


I Will Make You Hurt

by theonlytraveler



Category: IT (1990), IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst and Feels, Boys Kissing, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Harassment, High School, Homophobic Language, M/M, Mentions of Suicide Attempt, Mutual Pining, Obsession, POV Eddie Kaspbrak, POV Richie Tozier, Period-Typical Homophobia, Protective Richie Tozier, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Content, Sexual Harassment, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Stalking, attempted sexual assault - non-graphic, because i changed some stuff around, but it is also alternate, but it is not graphic, strong eddie kaspbrak, this is set in canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 113,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12706428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonlytraveler/pseuds/theonlytraveler
Summary: Eddie has struggled with school the past couple years, and his last year of high school is already off to a bad start.  His mom hires him a tutor from the nearby University and things seem like they might start looking up.But when Eddie's tutor takes an interest in him, everything starts to fall apart, and Eddie is forced into a situation he never even imagined.





	1. Knock Three Times

**Author's Note:**

> This story is not really about high school and high school issues, there is a lot more to it, but I won't tag it until it becomes obvious.  
> This will switch between Eddie and Richie's points of view, but only at one time during the chapters and it will be cut in half.  
> There are mentions of a suicide attempt, and it is a little graphic, so be warned.  
> As I go on I will be adding warnings, so please read them. This is something that happens to a lot of people, happens in ways you don't even realize until years later when it's over, or never realize until it's too late and you're in too deep.  
> The rating may change to explicit later on, so be warned for that as well.  
> ** Historically, I will not be mentioning major things that happened during these years due to them being irrelevant to the story. I was a kid at this time and I remember growing up in the 90s and what it was like to live that different lifestyle. Some things I mention may not be completely, 100% accurate, but they are close to events at the time and what I have chosen to alter a bit.  
> Disclaimer: I do not own It the book, It the movie, or any music used in this story.

**September 1993**

 

The first essays of the year are marked with bright, red ink on the very first page, with a score out of one-hundred circled at the top just under the name of each student. Mr. Baylor strolls easily between the rows of desks, pursing his lips and flipping through the thick stack in his arms until he finds what he's looking for. He hands each student their work, sharing his thoughts on their papers with squinted eyes and a voice that carries throughout the classroom.

 

When Eddie receives his, he takes it and waits for a comment, looking up at Mr. Baylor timidly while his foot jiggles against the floor. Mr. Baylor studies him briefly and moves on without a word.

 

Eddie smooths the paper out over his desk and sighs dejectedly; there's a sixty-five circled under his name, with a note beneath that reads:

 

'I'm not sure you understood the issue here. Read the work again and come see me if you have any questions.'

 

Eddie isn't stupid, he understands how to format a paper and state his opinion without coming off as an arrogant asshole. However, through his high school years he has struggled with English and Literature class, specifically analyzing texts and drawing themes from the words of someone else. Math, science and history are his strengths. Each one makes sense, follows structures and rules and emphasizes memorization, the things he is most comfortable with.

 

English is his last period, and when the bell rings he ducks out of the classroom quickly before Mr. Baylor can call him back to talk. It's warm out, and with the mass of his peers crowding around him Eddie sweats along his hairline while heading for his locker. He holds his breath the last ten feet or so while passing by a guy who has no idea what deodorant is, holding back a gag when he opens his mouth and tastes the stench of sweat and body odor.

 

As Eddie gets his locker open and starts exchanging his books, he thinks of his grades from last year. Usually he does quite well, English class aside, but junior year had been difficult. Ben moved away, leaving another hole in their group beside the one left by Bill their freshman year, when his family decided that the ghost of Georgie was too much to deal with and uprooted the Denbroughs to the other side of the country. Ben lives in Portland where his mother was able to find a better job, but he never writes or calls, just like Bill. Eddie tries not to think about it, tries not to get too far into his own head to miss the things his remaining friends need of him. Bev, Mike, Richie and Eddie were so torn up that none of them had even realized how far down Stan was spiraling, until he slit his wrists on Halloween last year and almost bled out in his parent's bathtub while the pair were out of town. Richie, with his habit of sneaking through his friend's windows, showed up randomly and found Stan fully dressed and unconscious, soaking wet and covered in blood. Though both are hesitant to discuss it, Eddie has heard a little bit of that night from Richie.

 

It's no excuse for poor grades, but Eddie spent a lot of time keeping a closer eye on Stan and finished off the year barely scraping by. His mother threatened to keep him on a stricter set of restrictions if things didn't turn around his senior year, and to get him a tutor to keep him on track . A tutor isn't bad, but restrictions? As it is he still has a hard time getting her to let him do anything, and has had to sneak out on more than one occasion, resulting in arguments and words exchanged he never thought he'd say to his own mother.

 

He takes his heavy English book and shoves it on the top shelf of his locker, considering just how screwed he is. He should take the book home and try to tackle his homework, but he's not going to understand it anyway, so he leaves it there.

 

Eddie weaves between bodies in the hall, glad to be considerably taller than he used to be when he is able to easily spot his friends waiting out on the steps in front of the school. Richie is taller than the rest of them and is the first he sees, and beside him is Bev with her short, copper hair shining in the sunlight; Mike is laughing hard at something, one arm resting over Beverly's shoulders while Stan rolls his eyes and shakes his longer, curly hair away from his forehead.

 

As he steps out to join them, Eddie takes his place to complete their circle and wonders what other people see. Just looking at his friends, no one would ever be able to tell that they had all fought a monster together and lived to deal with the trauma.

 

"Eddie, my love," Richie proclaims, wrapping his long arm over Eddie's shoulders and pulling him against his side; Eddie tries not to blush, but fails. "Why do you always take so damn long and make me wait to see you again? You know it breaks my heart!"

 

"You have a heart?" Stan deadpans.

 

Bev laughs and pats Richie's chest. "It's frozen solid and black with rot, but it's there. I think."

 

Mike snorts and shakes his head. "That explains so much."

 

Richie feigns hurt. "I feel so unloved," he says, and then to Eddie, "I think I need some cheering up. Hold me?"

 

Eddie wrinkles his nose and shoves Richie away, and together they head to the student lot where Mike and Richie's cars are parked. They discuss their plans for their weekly study group, a thing they started last year when they all did terribly on their SATs. Well, all except Richie, who does well on all his tests even though he screws around most of the time. Stan had suggested they study together and retake them a couple months into senior year. The tests are in a few weeks, and Eddie is completely positive he's going to do terribly.

 

They separate as they usually do- Mike takes Bev and Stan home, and Eddie gets a ride with Richie. Mike drives a white truck from the farm, which is somehow always clean even though he uses it to haul a variety of things, including wood, meat, and soil. Richie's car is a small, old Chevy, with a dent in the rear fender and a faded spot of silver on the hood. It runs decently, but Richie's always fixing it because he can't stop speeding and burning out, and tries to find ways to make it faster.

 

"So how did you do on that paper for Baylor?" Richie asks with a cigarette hanging from his lips. He steers the car out of the parking lot with one hand and ejects the tape from the deck with the other, handing it to Eddie.

 

Eddie takes it and opens the glove compartment, eyeing the stacks of cassettes shoved inside. "Bad. My mom is going to flip and ground me."

 

"How bad?"

 

Eddie tells him about his score and the note Mr. Baylor left while sorting through the mess of tapes, grimacing when his fingers make contact with something sticky. He chooses one at random and hands it to Richie, making a face when the beginnings of Metallica fill the car.

 

"I can help you," Richie suggests, glancing at Eddie with a shrug. "It’s not too hard."

 

“Not for _you._ ”

 

“Come on, Eds.”

 

“I mean it,” Eddie says, frustration running through him. “This stuff is so easy for you. You always get everything.”

 

“Well, not _everything_ , just most of it.”

 

Eddie groans and looks out the window, watching the ugly houses go by that he sees every single day. “You should go to college. You’d probably pass everything so easy and get an awesome job, and the rest of us will hate you.”

 

Richie shrugs and stops at a stop sign. “You know I don’t want to go.”

 

“I know, but you _should_.”

 

“Nah, I’ll just make everyone jealous.”

 

“Jealous of what?” Eddie asks, rolling the window down a bit and waving a hand at the smoke blowing his way. “Your trashmouth?”

 

“This gorgeousness," Richie says, moving his hand over his face and grinning.

 

Eddie says nothing, just laughs and rolls his eyes. He wishes Richie would go to school, instead of hanging on to his half-formed idea of moving to California after graduation, to make a living off his voices and jokes. Eddie is pretty sure he can do it, but he doesn’t want him to just _go_ , and leave Eddie and the other Losers behind. He hates admitting it, but he’ll miss the idiot, more than he can even think about.

 

“I’m serious,” Richie says, pulling Eddie back to the conversation. “I’ll help you.”

 

"Maybe…"

 

"It's an open offer."

 

"I know, Rich," Eddie says, hoping he sounds more grateful than he feels.

 

Richie smirks and turns right, rolling through a stop sign. He says, "I mean I'm offering anything. I'll distract your mom with my body and you can make your getaway," and laughs when Eddie flips him off.

 

"You're such an idiot," Eddie says.

 

"You know damn well that she's just aching for all-" Richie slowly runs one palm down his chest and waggles his eyebrows, "- this."

 

Eddie fights a smile. "No one is aching for you," he says while trying to rearrange the mess of tapes spilling out on the floor. Two tapes are stuck together and Eddie pries them apart to find a melted, blue jolly rancher in the middle. "Why do you- seriously?"

 

"What?"

 

Eddie holds out the tapes to show Richie "What the hell?"

 

Richie chokes on a stream of smoke he's blowing out the window as he starts laughing. "You know, I was wondering what happened to that. I started eating it, but I didn't-"

 

"Oh my god!" Eddie throws the tapes down on the floor and wipes his hands on the seat, repulsed. "It was in your mouth?!"

 

"Yup."

 

"You put it back in the wrapper!"

 

"What was I supposed to do?" Richie counters, making a left onto Eddie's street. "Throw it away?"

 

"Yes!"

 

The car slows as they approach Eddie's house and Richie shakes his head, taking a last, long puff of his cigarette before tossing it out the window, half-way smoked. "Wasting candy is a sin. I'm not burning in Hell over a jolly rancher."

 

"Ugh," Eddie blanches while gathering his things together. The car stops and he hooks his backpack over his shoulder while pushing the door open. "Why are you so disgusting?"

 

"Grossing you out brings me great joy."

 

Eddie looks over at Richie to say bye, but finds Richie staring at him strangely. "What?" He asks, self-consciously running his tongue over his teeth for any food caught in between.

 

Richie licks his lips and parts them, just barely, like he's thinking something over before he says it- a rare occurrence. His eyes search Eddie for a moment, lingering, and Eddie gets caught up in wishing for things he's accepted he will never have.

 

Richie looks away suddenly and turns the volume knob to the right, and Eddie can see the exact moment he decides his thoughts aren't worth sharing. His eyes fall to the space between them and he shifts in his seat. "I'll pick you up at seven," he says, his voice flat, and he shoots Eddie a half-smile. "See ya."

 

"Okay..." Eddie gets out of the car hesitantly. "See you later," he says, hovering by the curb as Richie starts singing along to the music and moves the gear shift. Richie pulls away while bobbing his head, voice off-key, and Eddie feels suddenly like he's made a terrible error letting him go. Richie seldom discusses anything serious, but when he wants to he's usually incredibly awkward about it.

 

The second he steps foot in the entryway his mom is demanding to see his paper, and he reluctantly pulls it from his backpack and holds it out to her. She snatches it from his hand, giving him barely enough room to move around her and into the kitchen.

 

After a few moments she tosses the paper on the table and rounds on him. He braces himself for a lecture on school, but sees the look she's giving him, and more specifically, the box of cookies in his hands.

 

"Eddie," she says low, approaching him with careful steps. "Why are you eating that?"

 

Eddie looks at the ground, setting the box on the counter. "I'm hungry," he replies, trying to back away as she gets closer. "I'll get something else."

 

"Sweetie, no." She takes the box and pulls a plate out of cupboard, then piles about six or seven cookies on the left side. "I think you need more than that. You're looking too skinny lately."

 

Eddie turns away as she gets crackers, some chips, and a can of coke and sets them to the side. He's not sure when it started, but at some point he's realized his mom is now trying to take charge of his weight and, by extension, his "masculinity". She tells him he's not growing enough facial hair, he's not tall enough, he doesn't sound like a man yet, and that he needs to stop eating so little and gain some weight. But she'll turn around and attack him from the other end, randomly handing him creams and insisting his skin looks dry, that the dark spots under his eyes are ugly, and he'll never find someone if he doesn't take care of himself. This week she thinks he's too skinny, but next week she'll insist he's gaining weight and try to cut his meals down. It's a never ending cycle.

 

Usually he'll fight back, but with this stuff about his body it's just...different. He doesn't know how to argue back, doesn't know what to say to counter her. He didn’t let it get to him at first, but now he wonders… is she right? She’s nuts and wrong about a lot of things, but he really is smaller still, not much shorter than Richie, Stan and Mike, and has had only a few strands of a possible mustache or beard come in. Richie shaves, and gets a bit of a mustache going if he waits too long in between. Mike has some longer side burns, inching down his jaw to meet the beard that is very slowly coming in. Stan was small for a long time, like Eddie, but sometime within the past year he’s gotten thicker, a little more muscular, and he actually looks like he’s growing into a man.

 

Eddie sometimes looks in the mirror and wonders why he’s so different. There has to be something wrong with him and his body; he just doesn’t look like other guys. The one thing he won’t budge on, and his lone act of physical rebellion, is his hair. It’s gotten longer, past the point his mom will usually drag him to a barber, and he’s _not_ going. She’s already tried to get him to tame it, but he won’t. He’s starting to like the way it’s curling slightly and he doesn’t even want to style it anymore. It’s a mess and he’s keeping it, no matter what she tries to say about it.

 

He takes his plate and says nothing, goes up to his room and tries to eat, but feels sick to his stomach. There's no argument over his paper, which he’s glad for, but later that night his mom knocks on his bedroom door and tells him he'll be seeing a tutor over the weekend. She gives him an extra plate of mashed potatoes from dinner but says nothing about new restrictions. Eddie pushes the food around with his fork but breathes a sigh of relief.

 

: : : :

 

Nightmares are the new normal for the Losers, along with a heightened sense of wrongness in the people around them, and a keen eye for sudden movement and sharp ears for strange sounds. It's a recipe for paranoia- and they've all suffered their fair share.

 

Eddie's nightmares are his biggest problem, and they vary. He dreams of Pennywise and the putrid stench of it's breath, so close to tearing into his skin, filling up his nostrils and choking him. Sometimes he dreams of the leper, of falling through the ceiling and breaking his arm, the projector and Pennywise leaping impossibly out of the slides, the monstrous woman with her teeth drawing blood from Stan's skin, Henry Bowers' blood-stained smile, Mike's screams, Bill's eyes as the clown held him by the throat-

 

Eddie thrashes in his bed, shouting in the dark room as images of blood and death and rot linger from his dreams. They fade when he blinks his eyes open and he recognizes where he is, but his heart takes a longer time to stop racing, and his hands won't stop shaking. Though he can't recall what he dreamed of exactly, he knows it must have been really bad if he woke up shouting. He wishes he can stay in bed and huddle under the blankets, but it's Saturday, which means chores and grocery shopping, running errands for his mom, and meeting with his new tutor.

 

It takes all morning for Eddie to feel okay and stop jumping at every unexpected sound. He sweeps, dusts, and disinfects his room, strips the pale blue blankets and sheets from his bed to wash, and throws open his window to air out the non-existent stench. Downstairs, Eddie does the same in the kitchen, but mops the floor and only dusts the living room, seeing as his mom is in there, in her usual spot. Outside he mows the grass, sweeps the front and back porch, and mindlessly rakes all leaves and debris, flinching when some pests fly out at him.

 

Throughout his busy morning his dreams have taken a backseat to his worrying thoughts over school, and by the time his tutor knocks on the front door he's showered and eager to get going on his homework.

 

Eddie's tutor introduces himself as Sam Ellis, a student from the University a couple towns away. Sam tells him he is twenty-four, a psychology major focusing on substance abuse with a minor in English literature, and likes to tutor on the side for a little extra cash. Eddie's mother takes to him instantly, praising his manners and insisting that Eddie used to be just as polite as he is, until he hit puberty and high school and both made him crazy. Eddie ignores her mostly, observing his tutor and thinking that Sam holds an odd resemblance to Richie. He's got the same dark, messy hair, glasses with thick lenses, and he's tall and slim- like Richie. But where Richie is bony and barely closing in on six-feet, Sam is thicker and has passed that mark.

 

They start his homework up in his room and Eddie finds Sam to be awkward, like maybe he was oblivious and shy as a kid and never quite left his quirks behind. He holds eye contact too long, stares at Eddie as he's writing out sentences, and sits a little too closely where they are working at Eddie's desk. Some people are just weird, Eddie thinks. At least he's not an asshole so far.

 

"Do you understand the conclusion?" Sam asks him as Eddie puts his homework away in an evenly stacked pile on the corner of his desk. He is soft-spoken and unintimidating, a little spacey, but he seems harmless enough.

 

Eddie nods and smiles. "Yeah, I get it now. It was just a mess of words before."

 

Sam's smile is slow and seems a little forced, but his voice is kind as he says, "It takes a while to stop seeing a story as just a story." He gets up and follows Eddie out of his room, and when Eddie opens the front door to let him out, adds, "There's always some hidden, or not so hidden, message."

 

They agree to meet Thursdays at five in the evening and Eddie's Saturday winds down, uneventful. Richie calls him sometime around seven, asking if he wants to see a movie, but Eddie declines and locks himself in his bedroom.

 

"What are you going to do?" Richie demands before they get off the phone. "Sit at home by yourself and listen to 'Everybody Hurts' all night?"

 

"Shut the fuck up, asshole. I like R.E.M."

 

"Yeah, your whole block knows it, too. You only blast it every fucking day."

 

So Eddie does listen to them, and sings along to "Everybody Hurts" with his headphones on while sketching messily in a drawing pad Bill gave him before he moved away. He's not as good as Bill, not even close, but he likes the feeling of pressing a pencil hard against the paper, of setting the pencil almost flat against the surface and shading an area with quick back and forth movements of his forearm. It's relaxing and always manages to make him tired enough to fall asleep.

 

Eddie's nightmares that night are full of Bill and Richie, disappearing behind a doorway as he runs down a long, dark hall, trying to catch the edge of the door before it locks shut. He doesn't make it, falls through the floor, breaks his arm, cries as a monster looms over him. Then everything resets and the dream repeats itself. He sees Richie and Bill over and over, the monster over and over, Richie's terrified eyes as the door swings closed, Bill's sudden lunge to try to catch it before it closes. He sees it all over and over, until he wakes up in the dark hours of the early morning, sweat drenched along the neckline of his shirt and legs tangled crazily in the blankets.

 

The next night is the same, and the night after, and the night after that, and Eddie is irritable and moody through school and his weeknight shifts shelving at the library. By the middle of the week he calls in sick and gags around a throat stuck with phlegm, and tries his best to rest and ignore the relentless nightmares. They don't let up and his mom keeps him home the rest of the week, stuck staring at the four walls of his bedroom and wondering when and if the nightmares will ever end.

 

He tries not to dwell on the possibility that they never will.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Dwelling on the past, fearing the present, and dreading the future is not Richie's style. That's not to say that he doesn't worry about anything, but he chooses to invest his time, patience, and friendship into a handful of people, and it's worked out for him so far. In general, he's happy.

 

Part of this way of life includes not talking about certain things- The Unspeakables, as he calls them. The Unspeakables often coexist with The Unthinkables, and get shoved into a big, overflowing dumpster in the back of his mind, to maybe be dealt with at a later time, but most likely be left to rot in the dark.

 

The Unspeakables include the things that have been done to his friends and himself. Beverly's situation with her dad before her aunt moved to Derry and took her in? Unspeakable. The shit Mike still deals with because of the color of his skin? Unspeakable. Stan in the bathtub, soaked in dirty water and blood, eyes fluttering when Richie slapped him hard across the face and sobbed when he didn't wake for several agonizing minutes, the scars on the inside of his wrist, down his arms and-

 

That one is Unthinkable.

 

It might seem unfair, but the dark circles under Eddie's eyes and his constant snapping are not Unthinkable or Unspeakable. No matter how many other things are going on in and around Richie's life, Eddie is constantly in the forefront of his mind. And that's just how it's always been.

 

It's Sunday night and Richie hasn't seen Eddie since Wednesday, when he had a coughing fit in the cafeteria and had to run to the bathroom to blow chunks. He called his house that night to check on his friend, had to talk his way around Mrs. K, and was glad when Eddie was able to snark back at him on the line, as usual. He sounded like shit, but his temper had disappeared, and that was good enough for Richie.

 

Richie leaves his car at home and gets on his bike to head over to the Kaspbrak house. If he takes his car he'll have to go through the front door, which is difficult enough when Eddie isn't sick. He doesn't bother telling his parents where he's heading. His dad will just tell him to be careful, and remind him to always carry condoms- Dad of the year. His mom, on the other hand, will just nod and not reply, and get on with her own life. Whatever it is she does all day, Richie is well aware that as he's grown older, she's worried less about his safety and instead is concerned about his future. More specifically, lack of future, as she says.

 

The ride doesn't take long. Within fifteen minutes he's stuffing his bike in the bushes at the base of the tree leading up to Eddie's window and hoisting himself up on the lowest limb. He climbs quickly and straddles the arm that curls out toward the ledge, grinning to himself when he spots Eddie huddled in the center of his bed, head bent over something with a blanket wrapped snuggly around his shoulders.

 

Richie raps his knuckles on the glass and Eddie jumps, looking around until he sees Richie waving at him from outside. Laughing, Richie swings his dangling leg in the open space below him as Eddie pulls the window up, glaring in a way that would make a lesser man cower. There's no heat behind it, and only makes Richie laugh harder.

 

Eddie huffs and folds his arms over his chest. "Funny, I don't recall inviting you over."

 

"I thought I'd bring my Eddie Spaghetti a gift."

 

"A gift," Eddie says doubtfully, but he moves and lets Richie clamber inside. "And what is this gift?"

 

Richie straightens up and dusts off his clothes, listening to the low music coming from the boombox sitting on the desk. He snorts when he recognizes the song. "Michael Jackson?" He asks, and laughs when Eddie looks away, the tips of his ears turning red. "Really, Eds? I thought you had some taste."

 

Eddie plops himself back in the middle of the bed, chin raised stubbornly. "It's a mix Stan let me borrow. I like it."

 

"Stan has no taste. It's a known fact."

 

Eddie huffs. "There's other good music besides shredding guitars and over-zealous drummers."

 

Richie gasps dramatically, one hand on his chest. "How dare you! Drugs, long hair, and slamming guitars around is my life!"

 

"Whatever, just-" Eddie flaps a hand at him dismissively and wraps himself up again, sniffling loud. "Don't make fun of my music."

 

Richie's hand moves to his back pocket, his finger running along the outline of the tape stuffed inside. It's something he's wanted to give Eddie for a while, but he can never come up with a good reason to hand it over. The songs he chose, and spent so long debating over, can literally make or break their friendship.

 

Watching Eddie, Richie settles on the edge of the covers, thinking he has not had a more perfect opportunity than now. Eddie is slightly irritated, but it's clear to Richie that he's upset with himself for getting sick. The tip of Eddie's nose is red and dry, the curls that are barely starting to form around his hairline are stuck to his skin with sweat, his nose is stuffy and his voice is a bit nasally. Maybe some other moron would find it all gross, but to Richie, Eddie looks just as he always does- incredibly cute.

 

The pit of his stomach tightens when Eddie looks right at him, and he imagines giving him the tape. Eddie might love it, might understand what he's trying to say without his own words. His hopes almost run away and drag him with them as his mind conjures up an image of Eddie smiling happily, taking Richie's face in his warm hands and kissing him softly on the lips. The background is unimportant, and fades as Richie grips him tightly around the middle to pull him close, and lets himself fall into the moment. Eddie in his mind says nothing, just kisses him deeper, harder, until their arms are full of one another and their is no space between their bodies.

 

Richie has to physically shake his head to force the image away. Eddie is still looking at him, but he seems concerned, scooting forward until his knees are touching Richie's thigh.

 

"Here," Eddie says, placing his palm over Richie's forehead and holding it there for a moment. Richie stupidly leans into the touch and closes his eyes, feels Eddie's breath sweep quickly over his skin. "You look a little red but you're not warm. Do you feel okay?"

 

"I'm fine," Richie lies, trying his best to ignore the flutter inside him and the way his hands are itching to reach out and touch. "How are you feeling?"

 

Eddie sighs and picks up a pencil, then starts to shade something on a drawing pad resting on his crossed legs. "Like shit, but, you know, it's just a cold. The worst is over."

 

"So you'll be at school tomorrow?" Richie asks, and scolds himself for sounding too eager.

 

"Yeah," Eddie says wistfully, and shoots his walls a dry look. "I can't wait to get out of this stupid room."

 

Richie looks around Eddie's room; it's always been neat and clean, with light blue bedding and curtains that make the space look bigger than it really is. Every time he's there the smell of fresh laundry and scented soap he associates with Eddie is strong, but not overpowering. It's his favorite scent.

 

The drawing Eddie is working on catches Richie's eye. It's a dark doorway, with two equally-sized silhouettes on the inside. The doorway is dead center on the paper, and all around the edges is a mess of dark lines branching out, in the subtle shape of hands with horribly twisted fingers. It's creepy, but it's actually pretty good.

 

"What the hell is that supposed to be?" Richie asks, but wishes he didn't the second it clicks. Eddie stops shading abruptly and recoils, as though he hadn't realized what it was he was drawing. The two figures in the doorway are clearly boys, one with a tuft of hair flowing away from his head, and the other with a faint outline of glasses.

 

"Neibolt," Eddie replies quietly, and runs his graphite-stained finger along the shape of the doorway. He pauses over the figure with the flowing hair for a moment, expression troubled, then flips the pad closed. "I've been dreaming about it a lot," he admits, setting it aside. "Every night."

 

Richie doesn't want to have this conversation, doesn't want to press for more or even think about it. Even so, he can't stop himself when he asks, "For how long?"

 

Eddie rubs at a spot on his bare arm with his thumb, eyes downcast. "About a week."

 

The natural urge to flee when a serious conversation is about to unfold disappears, and Richie says, "If you want to talk about it, I'm uh- I'm here," and can't help but feel like an unprepared idiot. They've discussed everything that happened with Pennywise before, but it's been a while since the last time, and Richie had hoped that they would never need to bring up the fucking murdering clown again.

 

"No, no, I don't-" Eddie shakes his head and leans back on his hands, lets out a long breath, and continues "-I don't want to think about it. You said something about a gift, right?"

 

The sudden shift is welcome, though Richie still thinks he should try to get Eddie to talk a little bit. However, he gladly allows the topic of the Neibolt house to fall away and shoots Eddie a smirk. "I did mention a gift."

 

Eddie's brows rise slightly, his cheeks flushed in the warm air of the room. "This isn't like when you said you had something for me and took your shirt and pants off..."

 

"It's exactly like that time."

 

"Richie, no."

 

"I have to kick off my Sunday shoes."

 

"Do NOT strip in here."

 

"I got to," Richie says and stands up, then starts moving his hips to some shitty Gap Band song now playing. He turns the volume up just a bit and bobs his head. "Just enjoy the show, Eds. It's a free one."

 

"Richie!"

 

"Shhh," Richie presses his finger to his own lips, adjusting his glasses and quirking a brow. "This is the part where I rip my pants off in one go. You can't miss this."

 

Eddie grabs his arm and pulls him back down, giggling when Richie's knee slips and he almost falls off the edge of the bed. "You're a dumbass!"

 

Richie stretches out on top of the comforters and holds himself up on one elbow, closer to Eddie than he should be. There's less than a foot between them, and when Eddie scoots a bit closer, Richie's chest feels like his heart might skip right on out of his ribcage.

 

"I have a tutor now," Eddie says, seeming embarrassed, but oblivious to Richie's inner turmoil. "He's a student at the University. Psychology and English- can you imagine that?"

 

He doesn't even have plans to go to school after graduation, so Richie really can't. "Must be a super nerd."

 

"He's a little awkward," Eddie says, then adds after a moment, "I think it's going to help a lot, though."

 

Silence fills the space between them. There's a stray curl, longer than the rest, hanging above Eddie's eyebrow that Richie can't look away from. The need to reach out and brush it away is strong, but he holds back; he's already been too touchy tonight. He just can't help it- he's never going to have Eddie the way he wants. Collecting crumbs of his affection is all he knows how to do.

 

The silence is too much and Richie searches for a distraction. He leaps off the bed and browses Eddie's diverse music collection, arranged alphabetically on a long shelf above the desk. There are several from him, completely different from the one burning a hole in his pocket, and plenty that Eddie has made for himself. A cracked case with OMD scrawled along the spine stands out from the rest and he grabs it.

 

"What are you doing?" Eddie asks, suspicious.

 

Richie switches out the cassettes and presses play. "Enola Gay" starts and he moves his head side to side, following the synthesized beat. "This is better. More character."

 

"I didn't realize you're an expert," Eddie says, fingers absently fiddling with a loose string on the comforter. There's a worried crease between his brows that gives Richie pause, and he feels the air in the room drifting in the direction he doesn't like once again. A few moments go by where Eddie pulls at the thread, making it long enough to wrap around his thumb, and Richie's mind scrambles for something to joke about. Anything to joke about. He just wants to make Eddie laugh and forget about the stupid Neibolt house, but he doesn't get a chance to try before Eddie asks, in a small voice, "Do you think the nightmares will ever stop?"

 

Richie wants to lie, but he knows Eddie will see right through it. "Probably not."

 

Hesitantly, Eddie asks, "Are you still having them?"

 

"Sometimes..."

 

Eddie's shoulders slump a little. He looks up at Richie curiously, his hand curling into a fist and thumping lightly against his thigh. "How do you deal with them? I mean, we used to all talk to each other about this stuff, even after Bill moved. But since Ben left too, and last year when Stan almost-"

 

Richie looks at him sharply, begging without words to please, please don't go on. Don't talk about Stan. He doesn't want to admit that a lot of his nightmares are memories of that night, different scenarios playing out each time. Sometimes he's too late, or he doesn't even check the bathroom and finds out about it the next day at school. And sometimes it's not Stan in the bathtub- sometimes it's the others. He's dreamed of each face he cares so deeply about, lifeless and unresponsive, and he just can't talk about it. Not right now.

 

Eddie must see something of Richie's thoughts in his expression, because he stops abruptly and looks horrified with himself. Fortunately, Richie knows most of Eddie's tells, and can practically see the apology tumbling from his lips before he can start rambling.

 

"Richie, I-"

 

"It's fine."

 

"-I'm sorry."

 

"I know, and it's fine."

 

"It's not fine, it's-"

 

"Just drop it."

 

Eddie looks like he wants to push, but doesn't. Instead, he tries to smile up at Richie, and it looks sad and pained and Richie hates when Eddie looks sad at all and now Richie feels like the asshole.

 

"Hey," Richie says gently, turning the desk chair around and sitting on the edge. "Your birthday is next weekend. What do you want to do?"

 

This time Eddie smiles a little brighter. "I don't know. Maybe just hang out with you guys."

 

"Seriously?"

 

Eddie shrugs, indifferent. "Yeah, what's wrong with that?"

 

"It's your eighteenth!"

 

"So?"

 

"We have to have a party!"

 

Eddie shakes his head. " No. No way."

 

Richie groans and nudges Eddie's shoulder. "Come on, Eds!"

 

"No fucking way."

 

Richie stays for a while and fails to convince Eddie to have a crazy party, but they plan a trip to an upcoming fair that Eddie is excited for. It's not what Richie wants to do for him, but he knows it will be fun, and Eddie will have a great time. He climbs down the tree a while after that, the tape still in his back pocket, and rides home.

 

: : : :

 

The first thing Richie thinks about Eddie's tutor is that he's a little weird.

 

He meets him on a quiet Thursday evening when he pulls up to the Kaspbrak house to pick Eddie up for study night. It's a quarter to six and the sun is starting to disappear, but it's still warm out- perfect for a night just hanging around out somewhere, like the park or the quarry.

 

Richie tosses his cigarette and bats away the smoke lingering around him as he knocks on the front door. He's been trying to quit, since it irritates Eddie and Stan so much, and he's starting to hate the taste in his mouth. So far he's cut back to a couple packs a week, but it's fucking hard and sometimes he feels like he'll die if he doesn't get one fucking smoke.

 

Eddie keeps encouraging him, so he deals with the cravings.

 

A guy opens the door just as he's about to knock a second time and Richie steps back, wondering only for a moment who the fuck this dude is before Eddie steps out from behind him.

 

"Hey, Rich," Eddie greets him. His hair is slightly disheveled and so damn touchable; he smiles at Richie, and Richie pretends his stomach doesn't flip over itself. "This is Sam. My tutor."

 

Richie nods once in Sam's direction, taking in his perfectly buttoned shirt and khakis and deeming him 'nerd' with that one look. " Hey. "

 

Sam stares at him for several moments, unblinking. "Hi," he says finally, and Richie holds back a snort because the guy sounds and looks like he's completely baked.

 

Eddie says goodbye to Sam and turns to Richie. "I just need to get my stu- why are you laughing?"

 

Richie can't help it, watching The Nerd walk to his fancy-looking Chrysler, slow and with stiff shoulders. "Is that guy high?"

 

Eddie frowns in Sam's direction. "No, I don't think so..."

 

"Are you sure? Cause he looks fucking stoned!"

 

Eddie rolls his eyes. "He's just a little weird. It doesn't mean he's on drugs!"

 

"But you don't know that for sure."

 

Eddie just looks at him for a moment, then says, "I'll be right back," and goes back inside.

 

Richie chuckles to himself while waiting, looking back toward the street and watching Sam The Nerd start his car and turn up his radio. He doesn't recognize the music, but it sounds like the kind of shit Eddie likes, so it must suck. Sam sits there for a moment and glances at the house, then drives away slowly, extra cautiously, looking over his shoulder and the whole world while pulling away from the curb.

 

Richie runs into Sam leaving Eddie's house a couple more times, and each time Sam comes off a little stranger than before. Eddie insists that he's just awkward, but some sort of gut feeling is telling Richie that there's something more to it.

 

He notices Sam's eyes linger on Eddie's face the second time he sees him, studying Eddie intensely before turning away and leaving in his Chrysler. The third time is the same, his stare locked on Eddie as he laughs at something Richie says before leaving the Kaspbrak house. They're little things, not unlike anything Richie hasn't seen before. Plenty of guys creep on girls (and other guys) around their school, and even Stan was bothered by a guy who didn't get it when Stan firmly said he wasn't interested. Mike stepped in on that one and the guy left Stan alone after that.

 

Eddie's birthday passes by on Saturday the eighteenth, but the Loser's plans to go to the fair can't take place until October, so they get together and have a movie night. Richie almost gives Eddie the tape then, but he chickens out and keeps it hidden in his car, where it continues to sit shoved into the driver's side door well, unheard.

 

It's Friday, October has just begun, and Richie decides that he's going to suck up his fear and give Eddie the tape. At school he greets Eddie in the morning by his locker as usual, teasing and bugging him all through the day, looking for the right moment. At lunch he scoots a little closer, straddling the bench and wishing he could wrap his arms around Eddie's middle and pull him against his chest. If Eddie notices he says nothing, just smiles at Richie in that way that makes his insides squirm pleasantly, and Richie keeps the tape in his pocket.

 

Before he knows it it's the end of the day and the Losers are following their routine, out in the student lot by their cars after school. Richie watches Mike with Bev, how he has an arm around her shoulders and smiles stupidly at her when he thinks she doesn't notice. It's only a matter of time before one of them makes a move, and though Richie is happy for them (especially Bev, who took Ben's departure the hardest) he can't help but feel envious.

 

Eddie is talking to Stan about something, engrossed in the conversation, and Richie takes the opportunity to watch him. He's dressed in a red button-up shirt and jeans with no tears, and with his hair growing longer the combination makes him look soft and approachable. The tape is still in his pocket, and Richie takes a deep breath, scratching his nail over the plastic corner of the case. He can do this. It's just a tape, and it's Eddie- sweet, caring, forgiving Eddie. Wonderful Eddie. Amazing Eddie.

 

Eddie steps away from Stan and over to Richie, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "You've been weirdly quiet today," he says, suspicious. "What's on your mind? Is everything okay?"

 

Richie huffs out a nervous laugh and sets his hand over his pocket. He glances over Eddie's shoulder to see Stan now talking to Mike and Bev, all three of them out of ear-shot. It's now or never.

 

Swallowing dryly, Richie tries not to look at the bit of skin showing where Eddie's top few buttons are undone, but his eyes land there anyway. He tries to ignore the image in his mind of Eddie tipping his head back, giving Richie enough room to lean in and press his lips to the spot below his throat- in his head Eddie releases a shallow breath and grips his shoulders, asks Richie for more, and Richie bites gently at the skin.

 

"Richie?"

 

Richie feels heat rise in his face and he hopes nothing of his thoughts shows. He takes the tape out of his pocket, "This is for you," he says in a rush, holding it out for Eddie to take. "It's for your uh, birthday. Sort of."

 

Eddie takes it gingerly, turning the case over to read the back, where Richie scribbled: For Eds, Love Rich. He thought about changing it, afraid it was far too forward, but decided against it when he realized it doesn't matter anyway. The songs will give him away, and isn't that the point, after all?

 

"What's on this?" Eddie asks, running his finger over Richie's name and looking at the writing strangely. "You didn't make a list."

 

Throat dry and scratchy, Richie clears it and flicks the corner of the case with his finger. "Just some uh, some stuff. It's...it's a little different. Uh," Richie has to suck in a breath when Eddie looks up at him, suddenly feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet. "Listen to it by yourself. Okay?"

 

Eddie's expression gives nothing away, and Richie curses his friend's capability of slipping into a damn good poker face. He needs something, some inkling of Eddie's thoughts to get him through the weekend. He's not sure he can come back to school on Monday and act like the stupid tape isn't a big deal. And Eddie isn't stupid, he'll figure it out by the end of side two, if not sooner.

 

And then what? He'll reject Richie for sure, maybe even hate him.

 

Just as Eddie looks like he's about to say something, a car door closes nearby and draws his attention. Richie follows his eyes and finds a familiar figure approaching their group, with a perfectly buttoned shirt, glasses, and a spacey look.

 

"Hi Sam," Eddie greets him, surprised. "What brings you here?"

 

Mike, Bev, and Stan are watching now, shooting Eddie's tutor curious looks.

 

"Hi," Sam says, his eyes fixed on Eddie as he hovers near the trunk of Richie's car. "Your mom asked me to come by today for some extra help. Something about SATs coming up."

 

"Oh," Eddie replies, and he nods at the sensible explanation. "Are we having it here, or...?"

 

Richie observes Sam, noticing that he hasn't acknowledged, or even glanced at the other Losers. He's got his attention completely focused on Eddie, and because Richie has spent so much of his own time staring at his friend, he can see the way Sam's look shifts a bit between Eddie's eyes and mouth. It's something he does, too, but it's nothing like it at the same time. The look on Sam is different, something that makes Richie's hackles rise possessively.

 

"No, your mom asked me to pick you up." Sam smiles at Eddie, but it looks fake and uneasy as shit, and Richie starts to wonder why Eddie's not reacting to his weird behavior. "She said you tend to wander off with your...friends."

 

Richie exchanges a look with Stan, and is relieved to see he's not the only one who finds Sam odd. Stan has his brows raised slightly, arms crossed as he watches the exchange.

 

Eddie says, "Oh, alright, I guess," and turns to Richie. "I need my English book from your trunk."

 

Richie unlocks the trunk quickly, keeping his eyes on Sam. Eddie bends over and reaches inside the trunk, grabbing a couple other books, and doesn't seem put-off by his tutor's weirdness. Richie thinks that he's probably just being ridiculous and Sam really is just awkward, as Eddie says, when he notices the guy openly staring at Eddie's ass.

 

Before Richie can tell the guy to quick perving on his friend, Eddie finishes up and slams the trunk closed. "Bye guys," he says to the Loser's, arms full of books, and he turns and follows Sam to his stupid car parked a couple spots down.

 

"Eddie's tutor?" Beverly guesses correctly, nudging Richie's elbow.

 

"Yeah," he replies, watching Sam's car reverse. "He's a little weird."

 

Mike says "Eddie told me he's awkward, but helpful." After a moment, he adds, "and he said the guy stares a lot."

 

Stan shoots Richie a knowing look, but says nothing.

 

Mike and Bev leave after a few minutes but Stan stays behind and asks Richie to take him home. Richie agrees, but his mind is a mess of thoughts and he misses the turn that leads to Stan's neighborhood and has to turn around.

 

"Hey," Stan says when they're going slowly through the maze of identical homes, breaking the silence of the drive. "It's alright, you know."

 

Richie turns the volume up a bit, but keeps it on low. "What is?"

 

"Being paranoid." Stan's hands are folded neatly over his lap, but Richie notices his fingers start to twist around each other. "I don't think it will go away. I still jump at any noise that I'm not used to, and sometimes I swear that picture in my dad's office is moving around."

 

Richie doesn't reply until he pulls up to Stan's house and shifts the car in park. Turning to his friend, Richie's eyes fall briefly to the scars on the inside of Stan's arms, and he hates that they're there and that he didn't get there even sooner. "You're not, again, I mean," Richie's stomach coils painfully when he meets Stan's eyes. "Are you?"

 

Stan glances down at the scars, understanding. "No," he says, shaking his head and placing a hand on Richie's arm. "I'm not doing that again. Never again."

 

Richie sighs, a little relieved. "Good, cause we need Stan-the-Man around. Who else is going to let me know when I'm being a complete fucking moron?"

 

Stan smirks a little. "I don't know, Eddie does a pretty good job of keeping you in check."

 

It's not the first time Stan has teased him about Eddie, but for some reason he can't stop his face from burning and he turns away. "Fuck you, Stan, no one keeps me in check."

 

"Did you give him the tape?"

 

Richie's ears are next to turn red, and he wishes he had never said anything about it to his friend. "Yes, I did, and it's no big deal."

 

The months after he found Stan were difficult, but the two grew closer than they were before. They kept finding new things to talk about late at night, when nightmares wouldn't go away and they just needed an ear to listen. They talked about Derry, Bill and Ben, Stan's dad and his unrealistic expectations, Richie's mom and her indifference to him, school and life after high school.

 

On a bad night when Richie was feeling like complete shit, he got drunk on some liquor from his parents small stash and went to Stan's house and told him all about how Eddie makes him feel. He told him about how he knows nothing can ever happen because first, Eddie has never expressed interest in anyone, especially guys, and second, Richie isn't good enough anyway. How can Eddie ever look twice at someone like him? Stan hugged him while he cried and let him stay the night to sober up, so he wouldn't have to go home and disappoint his mother even more.

 

They've never discussed what happened last Halloween in great detail, but Richie finds the silent understanding they share easier. It applies to their whole friendship, and it allows a number things to pass between them with one look.

 

So of course Stan knows he's full of shit.

 

"He's not going to hate you," Stan says, not unkindly. "Eddie's got a bad temper sometimes, and he can be pretty oblivious, but he's not an asshole. You know that."

 

"Yeah, I guess so."

 

"And don't worry about his tutor," Stan adds as he pushes the door open and gets out. "The guy is obviously in to Eddie, but it doesn't mean he's going to do anything. Not with this bigot town breathing down everyone's back."

 

Richie knows he's right, and as he drives away decides to put thoughts of Eddie's creepy tutor out of his mind. He goes home and thinks of Eddie and the tape, listens to the songs he used, and hopes it doesn't blow up in his face come Monday.

 


	2. Got My Mind Set On You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! First I wanted to say THANK YOU to everyone who showed my story some love! It means a lot to me, and it's very encouraging.  
> Also, I am changing the rating and adding some tags, and I am saying right here that I would like to give a TRIGGER WARNING. I think it's obvious that this story will have harassment and obsession, and a lot of physical, emotional, and mental issues come out of something like that. So in this chapter there is definitely some triggering stuff, but keep in mind I am going to throw lots of fluffy goodness and feels in there, too. Lots of good shit.  
> Also- I would like to apologize to Jessica Jones, who I told I would update this story this morning, but- yeah, I didn't. I work two jobs, I got a dog and a house and all kinds of stuff going on, and I got sick over the weekend. I would have had this up on Sunday, but being sick just sucked the life out of me haha. 
> 
> If there are mistakes and inconsistencies, let me know. I haven't written anything in a long time- probably, like three or four years- and I'm trying to get back in the swing of writing.  
> Hope you guys like this one. The mix-tape track listing is in the note at the end :)

It's Sunday night when Eddie finally gets a chance to listen to the mix-tape.

 

He tried to listen to it when Sam left on Friday, but his mom suddenly produced a list of extra chores for him to do- and she wanted them done right then, not later. So Eddie pulled the ladder out of the old shed in the corner of the backyard and cleaned out the gutters, washed the windows, cut back the overgrowth around the front porch, and raked up all the sea of fallen leaves covering the front yard. Inside he set up dinner, brought down some cobwebs his mom couldn't reach, and vacuumed the staircase. It was close to ten when he was finally done, and when he got into bed he meant to listen to it, but he fell asleep before he could even remember where he put his Walkman.

 

Saturday was similar to Friday, except his mom dragged him along with her to see his aunts. She stayed much longer than usual, persuaded him to clean up around their house, and when they got back home that evening Eddie remembered he hadn't done his homework the night before. He tackled it all at once, finishing up close to midnight and missing dinner. His mom tried to force him to eat something, but he was too exhausted and passed out fully dressed on top of the covers. In the morning he couldn't even remember if he had nightmares or not, and was glad for that.

 

Now, Eddie gets his drawing pad and sits at his desk, Walkman ready with his headphones pressing his hair down and snug around his ears. He tried calling Richie earlier to go see a movie, but he wasn't home. Eddie left a message with Mr. Tozier to have Richie call him back when he gets home, please, and it's almost eleven and he hasn't heard the phone ring once. Richie's usually pretty good about getting back to him, but maybe he got caught up with something. Or someone...

 

Eddie ignores the thought and presses play, nodding along as "Lovesong" fills his ears. It's not his style, but he's heard it enough times in Richie's car to appreciate it, so he hums along as he starts to sketch. Thick lines form under his hand as the next couple songs go by, and he pauses to study his work as "Open Arms" starts and-- "Open Arms"? That's an odd one. He knows Richie likes Journey, but not once has he ever willing listened to this song, because it's "corny and idealistic", as Richie claims. Eddie likes the song, though, so he listens and keeps moving his pencil over the paper in his best attempt at trees. They look more like stumpy stick figures.

 

"Genius of Love", "Amanda", and a song he knows from his own collection go by, and when "Stand By Me" starts, Eddie thinks that Richie wasn't kidding- this mix is _definitely_ different. Richie has given him plenty of tapes over the years, mostly filled with headbanger songs that Eddie can't stand but with a hidden gem or two if he takes the time to listen through. But Richie usually just tosses them at him, says something like "Here, live a little," and teases him when Eddie complains that the songs give him a headache.

 

Eddie recalls Richie telling him to listen to it alone and wonders... why would he tell him that? Because he's embarrassed by the songs he chose? Or is it because he's planning some elaborate prank? Or maybe it's because it's all corny love songs and-

 

Love songs.

 

Eddie rewinds the tape and starts to make a list, ignoring the very small bubble of elation forming in his chest. No, it can't be anything more than just a tape. Richie said it's a birthday gift, but he also said "sort of", like he wasn't sure what else to call it.

 

"My Girl" comes up, then "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away", and "Sweet Child O' Mine", "Heroes", a song Eddie doesn't know but a guy sings "I think I love you" a lot, "Wish You Were Here", something by Metallica Eddie's heard in Richie's car, "Just What I Needed", something with a dance beat that sings "Tell it to my heart", "All I Want Is You", and "Point of No Return", one of Eddie's favorites.

 

Just as Eddie thinks side two is over and he's about to start freaking the hell out, a last song starts to play that he's heard somewhere before, but he doesn't know the name, the words, or the singer. It starts with a slow guitar and drum beat, and it's so obviously a song about love that he doesn't need to listen to the words to figure it out, but he listens anyway. He abandons his pencil and drawing pad in favor of sprawling out over the bed, Walkman clutched close to his chest as he sinks into the music. It's... beautiful. The hopeful bubble inflates inside him and he closes his eyes, thinking of how nervous Richie seemed when he handed the tape over, how quiet he was the whole day, how the tape is addressed to him specifically, with no room for confusion.

 

Eddie stretches out toward the nightstand and stands the case up to face him, turning it at an angle so he can put his head down on the pillow and stare at it sideways.

 

_For Eds, Love Rich._

 

LOVE Rich.

 

Of course they love each other- they all do. You can't fight a sadistic, murdering clown-monster-demon together and not come out caring deeply for one another. And they've grown closer, more so when Mike started going to school with them in tenth grade, and even though Ben and Bill are gone the Losers are inseparable.

 

But his friendship with Richie has always been different. Where it was full of constant bickering and teasing when they were younger, as they've gotten older it's become tense, and the teasing is still there, but has taken a different turn. Eddie knows what he feels for Richie is deeper than friendship, and he's accepted that things will never progress the way he wants.

 

So this tape _can't_ be anything.

 

His eyes stay fixed on the bold writing on the case.

 

Eddie hits the rewind button and listens to the last song again, and the small, hopeful bubble isn't so small anymore. It grows with each repeat of the song, swells as he pictures Richie's dark eyes framed by his mess of equally dark strands of hair. In Eddie's mind he takes Richie's glasses off his face and sets them aside, takes Richie's jaw between his hands and leans in, breathing frighteningly close to his mouth. So close, but he doesn't move in.

 

"Richie..." Eddie murmurs aloud, and he jolts out of his thoughts at the sound of his own voice. His face feels like it's burning as he hurriedly gets up to shut the light off and climbs back into bed, under the covers, with the Walkman stuffed under the corner of his pillow. It's bulky but he doesn't care; he wants to fall asleep listening to the tape.

 

Eddie dares to hope as he drifts off to sleep that maybe- just maybe- Richie might feel the same way.

 

: : : :

 

It's about twenty minutes before first period starts and Eddie is already pissed at the day. He throws his books in his locker, pulls out his Government notes and stuffs them in his backpack, and prays to God or whoever that he doesn't have to see Richie until later.

 

Waking up brought cold, hard reality down on Eddie when he pulled the headphones off his head and let his thoughts wander in a negative direction. He had nightmares all night, and even though he can't remember them he still feels the fear and desperation that choked him awake lingering in his skin. It was already late when he was awake enough to get up and he rushed through his morning routine, power walked all the way to school, and now he's positive his anxiety over running into Richie will kill him for sure.

 

What is he thinking, hoping the tape means anything more? It's stupid, and foolish, and dangerous. Eddie remembers what happened to Adrian Mellon, and Frank Dixon in their freshman year, followed home and stabbed in the shoulder because he hugged his boyfriend on the front steps of the school. Others have suffered too, and Eddie feels like a complete idiot, daring to entertain any thoughts of Richie and actually being with him.

 

He slams his locker shut and turns around to head to class. It's a little early but he can't shake the feeling of running behind, and he'd rather be sitting if the anxious squirming in his stomach won't settle down. As Eddie rounds the corner at the end of the hall he keeps his head down, hoping he can make it to the safety of the classroom before running into anyone, even Stan, Mike and Bev. But Satan must be calling the shots today, because he's only about twenty feet or so from the door when none other than Richie catches him by the elbow and stops him.

 

"Eddie, hey," Richie says breathlessly, stepping in close enough for Eddie to smell the faint mixture of smoke and soap clinging to Richie's shirt- it's the way Richie always smells. "Where were you this morning?"

 

Eddie doesn't answer right away, too distracted by Richie's grip on his arm, his thumb moving back and forth against the inner bend of his elbow. Eddie shivers, and tells himself to step back and put some distance between them, but his legs ignore him and stay planted where they are. "This morning?" He asks, looking up at Richie steadily.

 

"Yeah, I went by your house to pick you up but you weren't there." Richie's free hand adjusts his glasses and he blinks at Eddie owlishly. "Is everything okay?"

 

"Y-Yeah, everything is fine," Eddie lies, gently pulling his arm away from Richie and folding both over his chest. "I woke up late. Just decided to walk here."

 

Richie looks down at his own hand before letting it fall down at his side. "Oh, okay. So uh, how was your weekend?"

 

Eddie tells him about going to see his aunts and the extra tasks his mom had him do, all the while hoping that Richie doesn't ask about the tape. The hope and bravery he felt last night has all vanished, and the thought of asking Richie about the songs makes his throat go dry and his hands start to shake.

 

There's a lull in the conversation as Eddie moves back to let a large group of classmates by and Richie gets closer- much closer. Richie steps toward him and touches his bicep to pull him out of the way and against his side, shooting the loud, pushy guys going by an annoyed look. Eddie makes the mistake of looking up while still so close, just as Richie's eyes drop to his; his insides squirm and his heart beats hard enough to echo through the rest of him. The corner of Richie's mouth lifts in a shy smile, and it's so unlike the smirks he's used to receiving that he almost blurts out exactly what he's thinking- that he wants to grab Richie by his stupid, messy hair and kiss him.

 

The warning bell rings and Eddie jumps, and just like that the moment has passed.

 

They part ways and the day starts off at a drag, and the slow ticking of every clock in every classroom only adds to Eddie's growing agitation. Every time he starts to focus his brain detours back to the mix-tape and he's lost, unable to tune back in to the lesson. It's annoying- why is he thinking about the damn tape? He needs to concentrate or he's going to screw up and fail everything, never graduate, and end up a beggar on a street corner with nothing to his name.

 

At lunch Bev leans in from across the table when Richie gets up to go smoke and asks him in a low voice "Did he give you the tape?"

 

Eddie is so irritated with himself and reeling from Richie's hands constantly fluttering over his arms and shoulders that he replies yes, he got the tape, and doesn't think much of the playful smile on her lips until later. When last period is almost over and he's given up trying to summarize the key points of the short story they were assigned to read over the weekend, he realizes that she was asking about THE tape- as in the mix-tape.

 

As in she probably knows exactly why Richie made it, and what it means.

 

As Eddie leaves the classroom and heads out to the student lot, he decides he's going to just come right out and ask Richie himself. It's easier than waiting and wondering, he supposes, and tries to prepare exactly what he should say. He makes his way across the pavement and sees Richie leaning against the trunk of his car, one foot resting against the bumper and a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. With each step he's a little more uncertain, a little more scared of tipping the balance and ruining everything, because there's just no way someone like Richie – who's so easygoing and fun – could want someone like Eddie – an overly cautious wreck of a human being.

 

Eddie doesn't mention the tape when they're in the car, can only murmur his reply when Richie asks if he needs to be dropped off at home or the library. He feels a little guilty as Richie tries to talk to him about some video game he's hooked on, gushing over improved fighting controls and better combinations, but he's so physically aware of the foot or so of space between them that he can't pay attention. His eyes are glued to the fluid way Richie shifts the gear into second, then third, and so on, his long fingers moving to the radio to turn the volume up a bit, then back again. He's relieved when the car stops close to the sidewalk and he hops out with a rushed goodbye, and definitely does not look back when he's at the top of the library steps and pulling the heavy doors open.

 

Shelving at the library is something Ben would have loved, and Eddie's glad he has the job, even though he thinks of his long gone friend more often than he'd like. It helps him a lot in different ways; the repetition calms him when he's had a challenging day, and the extra pocket money gives him some kind of independence from his mom, even if it's in a small way. She can't stop him from buying certain things, like band shirts and new jeans to rip holes in the knees, and though he rarely wears them, just the thought of her gritting her teeth anytime she snoops through his room and sees them gives him an eerie satisfaction.

 

Eddie goes home and struggles through his homework, holds his stomach after a heavy dinner of pasta, accepts a tube of lotion from his mom when she wrinkles her nose at his dry hands. She tells him to apply the thick cream to his elbows and neck as well, but the scent is strong and he wipes it off before he curls up under his blankets. The mix-tape is already in his walkman, so he pulls the headphones on and falls asleep to side two.

 

When Eddie wakes Tuesday morning feeling well rested, he considers the tape as he gets ready for school. He plays a few songs on his boombox, sings along as he pulls his shoes on and does up the laces, and sighs when he looks out the window and sees Richie's car pulling up to his house, anticipating a day of feeling like complete crap.

 

Not today, he tells himself. He's feeling okay, and a day without constantly thinking about the tape is exactly what he wants- and that's what he's going to get. Screw feeling like shit the whole day- he's going to make it good. Instead of dragging his feet as he gets in the car, he hops in and smiles brightly at Richie, his stomach swooping when Richie grins back and his eyes roam over Eddie's salmon-colored shirt.

 

"Pink? Come on, I know you're a Molly Ringwald fan, but this is just ridiculous."

 

"Pretty in Pink has nothing to do with my shirt, you ass," Eddie retorts, and allows Richie to touch the hem of his sleeve, fingernails gently scraping over Eddie's skin.

 

"I think it has everything to do with it. Guess that makes me Duckie, huh?"

 

At school he accepts Bev's hug when she greets him in the morning, when he'll usually shy away. It's not that he doesn't like to hug his friends, it's more that his paranoia of germs will never really go away. When Mike and Stan start discussing an idea they have to fence off a portion of Mike's farm to house some stray dogs they've seen around, Eddie listens intently. Though he's not an animal person, he loves their plans and wants to help, and eagerly joins their conversation.

 

He's not sure how he's able to keep his good mood going, but he does throughout the day and it helps him concentrate in class. Richie's tape is still in his thoughts, of course, but he refuses to let it stress him out, even when he passes Richie in the hall on the way to fourth period and Richie ruffles his hair and pokes his side childishly. Not even at lunch, when Richie has a leg on either side of the bench and sits very close to him, with one hand hovering near Eddie's hip and the other picking grapes off his tray.

 

"What's up with you?" Bev asks him in the hall on the way to sixth, eyes narrowed at him skeptically.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"You were a huge grump yesterday," Bev explains, linking her arm through Eddie's and pulling him against her playfully. "And now you're like a rainbow with a side of cotton candy. So...what's going on?"

 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. "Rainbows and cotton candy? I don't understand how either has to do with my mood."

 

Bev nudges his shoulder with hers as they stop in front of her class and stand off to the side to let other people go by. "Is it because of Richie?" She asks, smiling in a way that tells Eddie she's not going to stop bugging him until she gets something out of him.

 

There's a nervous squirming in his stomach, but he's not going to let it get him riled up. "He gave me a mix-tape."

 

Bev's smile grows wider. "Do you like it?"

 

"It's all love songs."

 

"Yeah, obviously."

 

Eddie doesn't want to ask, but he can't stop himself. "Why did he make it? I mean, is it some kind of- " he pauses and looks away for a moment, bracing himself to be disappointed. "Is it a joke?"

 

"A joke?"

 

"Yeah..."

 

Bev looks at him incredulously, then says "You're both idiots," and disappears in the classroom, leaving Eddie alone in the hall.

 

The rest of the school day passes by with little to note, and Eddie's good mood only starts to dwindle when Richie drops him off at home and he sees Sam's car parked out front.

 

"I didn't know you had tutoring today," Richie remarks before Eddie gets out of the car, shooting the Chrysler an unreadable look.

 

Eddie shrugs. "I don't usually."

 

When he gets inside he sees Sam and his mother sitting together at the kitchen table, discussing something that makes his mom laugh in a way he hasn't heard in a long time. it's weird and he's immediately on the defense when he hears his name, and Sam is the first to see him step into the entryway.

 

"Hi, Eddie," Sam greets him as kindly as always, but with a wooden smile that makes Eddie feel uneasy. "Ready for some more learning?"

 

Eddie looks at his mom, who is smiling approvingly in Sam's direction, and says, "I thought Thursdays are tutoring."

 

His mom nods and perks up. "Yes, but I thought you could use a little more help." She gets up and keeps talking as she moves over to the counter and starts dumping an open bag of Doritos in a plastic bowl. "I saw your chemistry test on your desk and- honey, you should tell me when you're struggling. I called Sam and he's very willing to help you with your other classes- you know he was his class valedictorian?"

 

So Eddie calls the library and lets them know he can't make it in, feeling guilty when his shift is rescheduled for Saturday. He sits down opposite Sam and pulls his homework out, pushing away the full bowl of chips his mom sets down next to him. Luckily she makes no comment about this, and Sam starts going over the chemistry test in detail.

 

Sam is there again the next day, staring at Eddie from across the table as he erases his mistakes on his geometry assignment. Eddie's gotten used to his staring, and for the most part he shrugs it off. But by Friday, when Sam is there again, he starts to feel uncomfortable every time he glances up at the clock on the wall and catches Sam looking him over with interest.

 

And he looks so much like Richie that it only gets him thinking of the tape. He's had it all week and hasn't mentioned it once to Richie, has been told to "ask him yourself" by Bev when he tries to needle the truth out of her. Even Stan and Mike keep giving Eddie strange looks whenever Richie is teasing him, touching him, and all he can do is blush and run away, or risk doing something stupid- like shoving Richie against the closest wall and kissing him until neither of them can breathe. Not that he's ever kissed anyone that way, or knows how, but it doesn't stop his mind from visualizing it at the most inopportune times. Like in fifth period, right after dealing with Richie all through lunch, he-

 

A sudden brush against Eddie's knee makes him jump and glance down at his lap; Sam is sitting right next to him, and he isn't sure how that happened, because he always sits across from him, but Sam's hand is moving away from his thigh. Eddie lifts his head in disbelief, meeting Sam's eyes that are already fixed on him and wanting nothing more than to crawl under the table and hide.

 

"Oh, sorry," Sam says, obviously not sorry at all. "Accident."

 

Eddie leans away, blindsided. Sam just- he just _touched_ Eddie's knee.

 

There's no time for Eddie to react because just then his mom comes into the kitchen and starts talking to Sam. But Eddie isn't listening- his mind is trying to make sense of his confusing mix of emotions. He's upset- and he should be...right?

 

As Sam gathers his things to leave, Eddie questions himself in silence. Yes, he should be upset- but it's not like Sam groped him, and maybe it was an accident. Could have been. Yeah, totally. He's touched Bev's knee by mistake loads of times, and he definitely isn't interested in her that way. But accidents happen.

 

"Eddie, do you have a girlfriend?"

 

Eddie turns to Sam and doesn’t understand the question at first. "Do I what?" he asks, his voice higher than usual.

 

Sam chuckles, but it doesn't sound natural. "A girlfriend. Do you have one?"

 

 _Say yes_ , Eddie tells himself, but "No, I don't," is what comes out instead.

 

Sam seems pleased by this. "Oh, good. I thought you might have one. You're very attractive, so I wouldn't be surprised."

 

After Sam is gone Eddie locks himself in his room and isn't sure what to do.

 

: : : :

 

Eddie tries to keep to himself over the weekend. He goes to the library on Saturday for his rescheduled shift and goes straight home after. The rest of the day is spent re-reading The Outsiders, and Eddie can't help but wonder just how lonely a kid Johnny Cade was as he falls asleep that night to Richie's mix-tape, the volume turned way down low on his boombox.

 

Richie climbs through his window on Sunday night with his super Nintendo stuffed in a back pack and they play Street Fighter II on Eddie's seldom used TV. It puts Sam out of his mind, and he's so grateful for Richie that he hugs him before he leaves for the night. Richie seems surprised, but grips him back after a few moments and tucks his head against Eddie's hair; Richie's warm breath blows over the shell of Eddie's ear and he shivers before stepping away.

 

The week starts and turns into a repeat of the previous, except this time Eddie can't force a good mood. He has tutoring again, and tries to tell his mom that it isn't necessary, that Richie can help him, but his mother sneers and shakes her head.

 

"That boy is useless. Sam can help you much better."

 

So Sam is there Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday after school, and Eddie tries to just get his work done quickly, and get the material down faster, so he can cut the sessions as short as possible. It doesn't work, because every time he's concentrated and getting the work done, Sam does something that throws him off.

 

Sam presses his foot against Eddie's calf, and just like before, claims it's an accident. He does it a few more times, going higher until he's at the bend of Eddie's knee, then he drags his foot back down again. Eddie's stomach turns so badly that he has to get up and rush to the bathroom to dry heave in the toilet.

 

Another day Sam moves his chair closer, saying something about watching the steps in the formulas for Eddie's geometry homework. Eddie keeps his head down and doesn't reply, tries not to flinch when Sam takes his pencil from his fingers and leans in close to erase the mistakes himself. In a low voice he explains Eddie's errors, his arm resting over the back of Eddie's chair, fingers grazing the back of Eddie's neck when he moves away to get up and use the bathroom.

 

By Thursday Eddie is a nervous wreck. At school he gets called out in class for falling asleep, snaps at Mike when his friend asks to borrow his notes for Goverment, flinches when Bev wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind, and tells Stan off for forgetting their notes for Home Ec, with a complicated pie recipe there's no chance he'll remember. And Richie- Richie keeps getting on his nerves. He just wants to be left alone, but Richie doesn't get it. He feels bad when he goes off on him at lunch when Richie pokes his side and startles him so much that he jumps and knocks his drink over, soaking his analysis for English (due later in the day) in bright red soda.

 

"Fucking _shit_ , Richie!"

 

"Fuck, Eds, I'm sorry," Richie apologizes, snatching a wad of napkins from Stan's tray and wiping over the ruined paper. "I'll write you a new one. Just tell me which story it was for and I'll give it to you before sixth."

 

Some of the soda drips on to Eddie's light green shirt, and Richie, noticing this, immediately tries to clean it up. He presses the napkins against Eddie's stomach, and even though it's Richie, Eddie shoves him roughly away.

 

"Don't touch me," he says quietly, and slides farther down the bench, away from Richie.

 

"What? I didn't, I was just-" Richie scoots toward him and tries to do it again. "I have a shirt in my car you can borrow, but we have to-"

 

Eddie's voice grows in volume when he says "Stop fucking touching me!" and shoots up from the table. He's so damn frustrated , and angry, and confused, and he knows it's not Richie's fault, but he can't stop, even with Bev and Mike and Stan all looking at him with wide eyes. "You're always bugging me and touching me and just- just- just leave me the hell alone!"

 

On his way to sixth period, Stan gives him a sheet of paper in the hall with Richie's handwriting, and Eddie feels like a piece of garbage; it's a copy of the ruined assignment, in Richie's best imitation of Eddie's neat scrawl.

 

Stan hesitates before hurrying off and says, "Whatever is going on, just talk to us." He studies Eddie for a moment, and Eddie recognizes the familiar concern in Stan's eyes. "Richie's sorry for pissing you off, but... I don't think he did anything wrong."

 

Richie still takes Eddie home after school and reminds him to be ready that evening for the Loser's weekly study group, and all Eddie can do is nod and keep his head down as he gets out of the car. He hates himself a little bit for the sad, dejected look Richie gives him before driving away.

 

There's no respite inside; Sam is there again, touches his neck and leg again, and even stands over him and places his hands on his shoulders while "correcting an equation". It's so jarring- to be guilty over Richie and helpless because of Sam. He wonders, not for the first time, if he should tell his mother what's going on. If she would take him seriously.

 

It's almost six and Sam is halfway out the door when he stops and turns around. "Eddie, can I ask you something?"

 

Eddie tries to inch backwards but his feet don't cooperate. "Um, sure."

 

Sam smiles one of those weird smiles that makes Eddie's skin crawl. "Do you want to go see a movie this weekend? The Good Son might still be playing. I've been wanting to see that, but I haven't had the time. I uh... I really like you, and I want to get to know you better."

 

No, Eddie wants to say, firm and unyielding, but when his mouth opens and he starts to speak it's feeble excuses that come out instead. "I'm uh, um, I don't- I have a lot of um- stuff going on, and I'm not... uh, gay, and it's..."

 

Sam keeps on smiling, like he doesn't believe any of it, but he doesn't push like Eddie is expecting. "Oh, okay then," he says, and he doesn't even sound disappointed at all. "I understand. Not a lot of people are out around here."

 

A few minutes later when Sam is gone, Richie drives up and Eddie can't get in the car fast enough. He doesn't wait for Richie to knock as he usually does, just grabs his backpack and runs out the front door, then throws himself in the passenger side. He's not even sure he bothered to close the front door.

 

Richie takes one look at him and frowns. "What's wrong? What-" He turns the volume down and places a hand on the back of the passenger seat. "What happened?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"Bullshit. You're shaking."

 

Eddie looks down at his hands and sees that Richie is right; his fingers are trembling, his chest is aching with desperate need for his old, stashed inhaler, and his stomach is in terrible, mangled knots. He can't process any of it, can't believe that Sam has the nerve to ask him out, can't even begin to feel disgusted that Sam wants him enough to try. Eddie's eighteen, sure, an adult, but he doesn't feel any difference between eighteen and seventeen- hell, even sixteen- and it's just too much and he doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to make it stop.

 

Eddie refuses to talk and Richie pulls away from the curb, but he keeps asking what's wrong, keeps shooting Eddie worried looks that Eddie has to ignore or he'll spill and blurt out everything. The whole way to Mike's is otherwise silent, and Eddie knows he should tell Richie what happened, but he doesn't. He just looks out the window and allows himself to go numb.

 

* * *

 

The mix-tape is the furthest thing from Richie's mind.

 

Well, it's not completely out of his thoughts. He's still wondering if Eddie has listened to it, has been suspecting that he must have, but now that his friend is displaying alarmingly angry outbursts, it's fallen to the back of the line.

 

He knows Eddie has a scary temper at times; he loses it and snaps, usually for a good reason, but is quick to admit if he's wrong and apologize. It's been a few days since Eddie basically told him to fuck off, when he was obviously upset about something else, and even less time since Richie picked him up for study group and Eddie was shaken up, so badly that there were unshed tears in his eyes. He's pissed he let Eddie get away without telling him what happened, but he didn't want to push or upset him further.

 

It's Saturday afternoon and Richie looks up at the heavy doors of the library wearily. A smoke sounds amazing, the perfect way to relax and shed away at his nerves, but since he's been trying to quit, he doesn't keep a pack on him at all times.

 

His fingers twitch and he exhales; he has to talk to Eddie and figure out what the hell is going on, no matter how nervous he is. If he lets it go and something happens again, like with Stan, he just can't-

 

No fucking way. Not Eddie.

 

Richie pulls open the heavy door and steps inside, relieved to see the long, polished tables are mostly empty, very unlike the weeknights when he picks Eddie up and hangs around until he's finished. The only reason he comes by is for Eddie, even though Stan is always bugging him to read more and educate himself of the real world. There's no need, though. All he really needs is his friends and a shot at taking his talents to California.

 

The two librarians are standing at the front desk, shuffling through paperwork and stacking tall rows of books near the edge. Richie approaches them, smirking when Mrs. Starrett, the friendly one, raises a graying brow when she sees him and folds her arms across her chest.

 

"You know, Tozier, there's a lot of stuff to do around here," she says, but she's got a teasing smile on her face. "Maybe we should hire you on, then you can hover around our Eddie as much as you want."

 

"I don't know," Richie says, letting out a low whistle and slipping into his English Butler voice. " _I've a reputation to uphold, ma'am, and I think I'd be rubbish at the job. Best keep Sir Kaspbrak; he's a fine lad._ "

 

Mrs. Starrett shakes her head but laughs a little. "He's in the Biography section. Don't bug him too much. He's got a lot to catch up on."

 

Richie thanks her and heads for the back of the library. The rows are empty and the closest tables are too, and thank fuck for that. He'd rather have complete privacy to talk openly, but he'll take this small sliver if it means Eddie will open up, even just a little bit.

 

He spots him in the furthest corner, trying to reach a higher shelf, one hand braced on a cart full of books for leverage and the heels of his shoes raised off the floor in a poor attempt at gaining a few inches. Eddie's not as short as he used to be, but he's a stubborn shit and he isn't grabbing the step stool a few feet away, even though he clearly needs it.

 

Richie quietly approaches him and reaches up, plucking the book from his hand and sliding it into the only empty slot. Eddie turns, startled, but sighs when he sees it's only Richie and visibly relaxes.

 

"Hey Eds," Richie says, looking over Eddie's soft, gray polo shirt and dark jeans appreciatively. He looks so fucking cute with his curls falling away to waves the longer his hair grows, his bottom lip jutting out just enough for Richie to suck into his mouth, if he was brave enough to go for it, and take it between his teeth, bite down just hard enough to make Eddie gasp and – god, Richie is so fucked. "How's it goin'?"

 

The corner of Eddie's mouth lifts and he huffs out a laugh. "It's uh, it's goin'. I think the whole fucking town turned their books in at once."

 

The dark circles beneath Eddie's eyes stand out vividly under the lights overhead, and though it's not unusual for any of the Losers to end up with identical marks, several times a week at the worst times, Richie can't stand it when it's Eddie. He just looks so damn sad, with his shoulders hunched in slightly and his eyes downcast. Without meaning to, Richie lifts his hand and traces the pad of his thumb over Eddie's cheekbone, just under the dark circle, and drags his fingers down over Eddie's jaw.

 

Eddie's breathing hitches slightly and color floods his cheeks. God, Richie wants to press him against the shelf so fucking bad, lace their fingers together and pin Eddie's hands above him, kiss him until he's breathless and knows exactly how much Richie wants him. Needs him.

 

Richie reels himself in. He forces his eyes away from Eddie's parted lips and stares down at his dirty, worn-in boots instead. Why is he so fucking perverted? Eddie needs a friend, not some idiot gawking and fantasizing over him. Stepping back is harder than usual, but Richie does it; he immediately misses the warmth and comfort of Eddie's nearness.

 

Richie says, "Mr. K., take a seat," with a boatload of enthusiasm he can't truly muster up, gesturing to the step stool. "I'll get all this shit done." Richie waves a hand over the cart and starts picking up a few heavy books. "You sit and relax."

 

Eddie's smirk is a little insulting. "Rich, you don't know how to do that."

 

"I know the fucking alphabet, jackass."

 

"No, I mean," Eddie snorts and takes the books from his arms. "Let me show you."

 

Eddie briefly explains the Dewey Decimal System, which he admits he screws up more often than not, and calls it a "fucking bullshit excuse to keep bored-as-shit librarians challenged". He looks so genuinely offended by the little numbers laminated on the spines, with his eyes narrowed at the shelf as he shoves a tall, thick book between two equally sized ones. Richie can't help it- he starts cracking up, loud and in the obnoxious way Stan always tells him makes him sound like a horse. Eddie tries to shush him, a futile attempt, and ends up laughing just as hard as Richie.

 

"You're gonna get me in trouble!" Eddie hisses once he calms down, though he doesn't stop smiling. "I like working here. If you get me fired-"

 

"What are you gonna do, hiss at me?"

 

"I'll punch you in the dick."

 

Richie takes a step away from him. "That's pretty aggressive."

 

"I changed my mind. I'll kick you instead."

 

"You know, little Richie never did anything to you to deserve this."

 

"Oh my god!" Eddie swats him with a paperback. "Stop talking about your dick!"

 

"You brought it up!"

 

About an hour later Richie drops Eddie off at home and drives away, once again disappointed with himself for dropping his balls and letting Eddie go without drilling him. He has to talk to Eddie somehow. Just because Richie got him to smile and laugh a little bit doesn't mean Eddie isn't still suffering.

 

That night Richie strums his old, beat-up guitar, an acoustic he bought when he was twelve with his saved allowance and extra jobs he took throughout the neighborhood. He's not good, has never had the patience to practice for hours everyday, but he can play some of the melodies to his favorite songs and come up with his own basic chord progressions. It's stupid, but he's tried writing a few songs over the years. The lyrics are stuffed away in his room, but he has no idea where. Maybe under his bed in the great abyss of old homework and lone socks.

 

The phone in the hall rings as he's slowly going through the intro to "Simple Man", one of his die-hard favorite songs. He's not expecting a call, so he's surprised when his mom knocks on his bedroom door and says it's for him.

 

"Who is it?"

 

"Eddie Kaspbrak," she replies, smiling faintly. "I like that boy. He's very sweet."

 

Richie's up and in the hall so quickly that it earns a curious look from his mom. If she thinks to ask about it, she doesn't; she heads back down the hall toward the living room and disappears from sight.

 

He presses the phone to his ear and wraps the cord around his thumb. "Eddie?"

 

Eddie's voice is muffled on the other end, but it's clear that he's upset. "Hey, Rich. What are you, uh- sorry, it's fucking late, I didn't realize."

 

"It's fine. What's wrong?"

 

"Nothing, just-" There's a shuffling noise and low voices, and a few seconds later Eddie says, much quieter than before, "Will you meet me at the park?"

 

It's about twenty minutes on bike to get to the park Eddie likes best. It's big, but because it's so close to the kissing bridge, a lot of others their age tend to frequent the other parks late at night. People claim to see the ghost of Adrian Mellon sitting on the railing of the bridge, as though he's waiting for something, and the rumor is enough to keep most people away after dark.

 

He slows as the wheels transition from street to sidewalk and he rolls down the path. The swing set is hidden behind the rusted, old playground, and it's there that Richie knows Eddie will be waiting.

 

Richie gets off his bike and drops it in the grass next to the monkey bars, then heads over to the swings. Eddie is sitting with his back to the playground, his fingers curled around the chains on either side of him and his feet moving over the gravel as he swings back and forth a few feet, kicking up small clouds of dust. His head is lowered, facing the ground, and Richie wonders if Eddie has been crying. He really fucking hopes not- Eddie's tears are his greatest weakness. If he sees them he'll gladly act like the biggest idiot, just to make him smile again.

 

Richie's boots crunch over the gravel and draw Eddie's attention; he turns and tries for a smile, but Richie can see the tension there, the grimace that fights it's way through instead and – fuck, Richie was right. Eddie's eyes are red and wet, and he looks so ashamed and pissed with himself that Richie knows he needs to be careful, or risk Eddie losing it.

 

"Hey," Richie says gently, stepping around the empty swing to stand in front of his friend. He wraps his fingers around one of Eddie's hands, still clutched tightly around the chain. "Eddie, talk to me. What's going on?"

 

Eddie swallows and angrily wipes his eyes with the back of his free hand. "God, why am I such a fucking cry baby? Nothing's wrong, I'm just...weak. I'm fucking delicate, just like my mom’s always saying."

 

"Fuck no, you're not."

 

"I am," Eddie says, his voice low and thin. "I'm supposed to be a- a- a man, but I can't handle anything. I can't get my grades up, I can't do any better on my SATs, I know it. It's a waste of time! I need a fucking tutor and now I- I can't even handle the fucking tutor! I'm just a stupid shit."

 

"No, Eds, that's not true."

 

"It is!" Eddie's voice rises in pitch and Richie can see the anxiety attack crawling it's way to the service. Eddie's chest is starting to heave under his shirt, his free hand is clutching at Richie's sleeve and his eyes are wide as they look up at Richie needfully. "Why am I such an idiot?"

 

"Eddie, no," Richie tightens his grip over Eddie's hand, and uses his free one to cup the side of Eddie's neck in his palm, leaning over to bring their faces closer. He ignores the ache in his own chest as he keeps his voice calm and level and says, "You're not an idiot. You're fucking awesome. You don't even know how awesome you are."

 

Eddie inhales shakily and murmurs, "I'm not..."

 

"You're not weak," Richie says, voice embarrassingly low and soft as he looks right into Eddie's big, sad eyes. "Or delicate, or any of those things. You're..." Incredible. Amazing. Beautiful. "You're strong. You're smart."

 

Eddie snorts, starting to calm down. "Yeah, right."

 

"And, remember that one guy, Josh Dickwad, sophomore year?"

 

Eddie nods slowly, sniffling a little. "Yeah. That guy's an asshole."

 

Richie rubs his thumb over the skin below Eddie's ear, wishing so hard that he could wrap his arms around Eddie's shoulders and just hold him. It's so sappy a thought that Richie takes a moment to bottle his emotions before going on. "Yeah, and you punched the shit out of him cause he kept messing with Ben."

 

"He deserved it," Eddie says simply, shrugging.

 

"And that's weak? And- what was that stupid shit you said? Delicate?"

 

Eddie's laughing now, his nose scrunched up and his eyes dry, and he's looking up at Richie openly. "Guess not," he says, and his voice is different, fuller, weighted. He's staring up at Richie in a way no one has ever looked at him before, like he's... worth something. Like Eddie thinks he's some wonderful friend, deserving of this wide-eyed look, when all he is is a guy with feelings he can't contain, trying to shoulder his way into Eddie's heart under the pretense of friendship.

 

Richie doesn't deserve that look, but he soaks it up. What can be say? His heart is in this boy's hand, there to do whatever he wants with it. If he wants to crush it? Fine. If he wants to use it? Okay. If he wants to keep it? Well, that's something Richie can only hope for.

 

Eddie's eyes are pulling him in dangerously, foolishly, innocently. Richie feels his body lean in, drawn to the warmth that is Eddie, and he glances down at Eddie's mouth, partially open, and Eddie's tongue sneaks out to swipe over his bottom lip, leaving it shiny and spit-slick.

 

A wave of pure want rushes through Richie and he looks away, steps back to put some space between them. As much as he wants to drop to the ground and pull Eddie down on top of him, suck on his neck and his lips and run his fingers through his hair, he has to stop and reign it all in. He still doesn't know what upset Eddie so much in the first place, and before he drags his sorry ass home he's going to find out.

 

"Sam asked me to go see a movie with him," Eddie says suddenly, pushing himself up off the swing and slowly turning toward the playground. He hoists himself up on the ledge by the monkey bars and tucks one foot under his thigh. Richie stands back a few feet, keeping a safe distance between them. "Like a...date."

 

Richie blinks and pushes his glasses up his nose, swallows against his suddenly dry throat. "What did you say?"

 

"I didn't say yes," Eddie says, and he pulls a folded up piece of paper from his pocket. "I wanted to say no, obviously, but I was, I don't know, scared to, I guess." Richie watches as Eddie unfolds the paper, his hands shaking slightly, and holds it out to him. "He left this with my mom today."

 

Richie takes the wrinkled paper and holds it under the nearest light. It's dim, but he can still make out the words.

 

_Dear Eddie,_

 

_I want you to know just how much I like and want you. I understand you think that you're not interested in men, but perhaps you should give it a try. I'm more than willing to help you with this, if you wish._

 

_You have occupied my mind since I met you. You are desirable in ways I believe you don't yet understand. If I could easily make you mine, I wouldn't hesitate. However, I believe waiting and practicing patience will pay off, and in the end you will be entirely worth the pain of observing the object of your affections pursue and want someone else._

 

_Please keep me in mind, Eddie. You are always in mine._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Sam Ellis_

 

Richie lowers the letter and looks over at Eddie, disgusted. "What the fuck."

 

"Yeah," Eddie agrees.

 

"Seriously, what the fuck."

 

"I know."

 

Richie hands the letter back to Eddie and tries not to visualize punching Sam in his stupid face. An understanding falls into place, and Richie observes Eddie for a moment as he folds the letter up again and places it in his pocket. Eddie starts fidgeting, glancing over his shoulder, his foot jiggling nervously where it dangles beneath him.

 

"Eds," Richie starts carefully, "Has Sam been bothering you? Like, at your house?"

 

Richie knows he's hit the nail on the head when Eddie's mouth drops open and he starts talking fast and his voice goes higher, the way it does when he's nervous or scared. "It's not a big deal, I can handle it. As long as I don't engage him he'll back off. Girls deal with this kind of thing all the time and well, I'm not a girl, but I can deal with it as well as they can. It's not like he's grabbing my ass or my dick or anything like that."

 

It takes Richie great effort to keep himself from finding Sam right this moment and beating the shit out of him. He's not going to get any more out of Eddie, no details, but it's not much of a reach to guess that Sam must be harassing him during Eddie's tutoring hours. Isn't Mrs. K. there whenever Sam's at the house? She would stop him, surely.

 

"Richie," Eddie says, pulling Richie from his thoughts. Eddie looks at him evenly, and says, "I can handle it," with no room for argument.

 

Richie doesn't believe him, but he wants to. It's not like Eddie can't take care of himself; he's a hell of a lot stronger than he looks, has gotten into a couple fights back in ninth and tenth grade and has come out on top. But that's not what Richie's worried about.

 

"Richie?"

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I'm sorry."

 

Richie frowns. "This isn't your fault. Your tutor's a perv, not much you can do to change that."

 

Eddie sighs and says, "No, not that. I'm sorry I yelled at you. At lunch."

 

"It's fine, Eds," Richie says, waving his hand dismissively. Yeah, he was a little hurt by it, but he knew there had to be something bigger than that going on. "It's forgotten."

 

"I was an asshole," Eddie tries to protest. "I was so irritated and I took it out on you."

 

"It's okay, I'm used to you being a shithead when you're pissed."

 

Eddie glances away with a tiny smile and quickly changes the subject. They discuss the fair the Losers are taking Eddie to as a delayed birthday gift, and they stay at the park until almost one in the morning, shivering but chatting about how much fun it's going to be. When they part ways Eddie hugs Richie, wrapping his arms around his waist tightly and nuzzling Richie's shoulder.

 

Richie's heart skips when Eddie thanks him for coming, for listening, for being a great friend, smiling shyly over his shoulder before he pedals off in the dark. When Richie gets home he collapses on his bed fully dressed and passes out, and has nightmares of Eddie in the bathtub full of blood.

 

: : : :

 

If there's one thing Richie doesn't consider himself, it's a Neanderthal. That doesn't mean he'll back down from a fight, but he doesn't deliberately go out looking for problems, either.

 

A valiant effort has been made on his part to put Sam The Creep out of his mind, and trust Eddie and his capabilities. He's been paying closer attention since the night at the park, and he feels so fucking ignorant to have missed that there was something going on.

 

Eddie is in a decent mood on Monday, but Tuesday brings on a fresh wave of agitation that spares no one. Richie notices how withdrawn Eddie is in the morning and doesn't comment, pictures his boot connecting with Sam's face and allows it to entertain his thoughts.

 

Stan, Bev and Mike wisely leave Eddie be, and Richie follows their lead and doesn't take Eddie's outburst Wednesday morning personally. In second period Mike leans over their shared table and asks, "Do you know what's going on with Eddie? He's being a little crazy."

 

Richie shakes his head; it's not his place to say, even if he wants to round up the Losers and take a bat to Sam's car. "He's probably stressed about his grades."

 

At lunch Richie does his best to make Eddie laugh, but he only cracks a barely-there smile that looks so sad and worried that Richie gives up halfway and just sits as close as Eddie allows. It's not very close, and Richie wonders what, exactly, Sam is doing to Eddie that's causing him to recoil from the touches of his friends.

 

Eddie snaps at each of them, but not as badly as last week, and nothing like when Eddie's homework was ruined by mistake.

 

Bev asks Richie about Eddie next, Wednesday night at the quarry over a shared cigarrette.

 

"Obviously, something's wrong with Eddie, but he won't say," Bev says, blowing smoke out in a thin stream over Richie's head. Bev is sitting in the open backseat of an abandoned Chevy Bel Air, rusted and with the front seats torn out. Richie has his back against the fender beside her, his ass sore from sitting on the hard ground for too long. "What do you know?"

 

Richie accepts the cigarette as she passes it to him, but doesn't immediately take a drag. "Are you interrogating me?"

 

"No, but I know you know something." She nudges his shoulder with her knee. "Mike thinks so, too."

 

"Are you and Mike a united front now, or is Stan in on this, too?" Richie shoots her a cheeky grin and sticks the butt of the smoke between his lips.

 

"Mike and I are together," she admits. "But that's not important- Eddie's important."

 

"I don't know what's going on with him."

 

Richie has to lie and repeat himself when Stan takes a shot on his own. He hates lying to them, but it's not up to him to share what's happening to Eddie.

 

When Richie gets home on Friday after dropping Eddie off at home, he dumps his things on his bed, kicks his boots off, and gets his guitar out. He's just starting to strum a few chords when his mom knocks on the door and pushes it open when he tells her to come in.

 

"Rich, Eddie called a bit ago. Before you got home," she says, a worried expression curling her brows in the middle. "He said not to call him back, just go over to his house as soon as you can. He sounded a little upset."

 

Richie flies off the bed and jams his boots back on. "Did he say anything else?"

 

"No, just to please make sure you get the message." Richie feels her watch him as he grabs his keys and wallet off the dresser and stuffs them in his pockets. She says, "Is that boy doing okay? His mother is such a nightmare. Have him come spend the night if he needs to get away. I can deal with her."

 

Richie feels a sharp pain of envy for his mom's concern for Eddie, but it's brief and he shoves it in the Unspeakables dumpster before squeezing past her and heading down the hall. "We'll see."

 

Richie speeds all the way to Eddie's house, rolling through stop signs while barely tapping the brakes and hoping a fucking cop doesn't come out of nowhere and fuck everything up. Sam wasn't there when he dropped Eddie off, and neither was Mrs. K., but he just knows it has something to do with Sam- what else could it be? Eddie doesn't go running to his friends for every little thing- just the important things.

 

As Richie pulls around the corner and onto Eddie's street, he feels a great swell of anger grow inside him at the sight of Sam's car, parked right up in the front. He stops right behind the Chrysler and jumps out, storms up the walkway, up the porch steps, and bangs on the front door. He's thinking of about seven different ways he can kick the shit out of Sam when the door swings open and Eddie is there.

 

"Hey, Richie," Eddie says brightly, but his eyes are wide and looking up at Richie with meaning. He says, "What are you doing here?" and his eyebrows move high up his forehead, getting close to the wavy curls hanging down over his hairline. He steps aside enough for Richie to see in the house; Sam is sitting at the kitchen table with books and notes spread out on the surface.

 

"Oh, uh," Richie is pretty quick on the uptake, and plasters on a fake grin and tries to relax his stance. "We're still going to the drive-in, right?" He says, and steps inside when Eddie motions for him to come in. "I didn't know you had tutoring..."

 

Eddie shrugs exaggeratedly, gesturing to the kitchen. "Neither did I. But, uh, we can go after. Yeah." Eddie is wringing his hands together as he leads the way into the kitchen, and knocks a knee into the table when he sits down. "You don't mind waiting, right Rich?"

 

Richie has to talk himself down from glaring at Sam as he drops into a chair to Eddie's right. "No, I'll wait. Where's your mom? I need to say hi to my one true love." Richie waggles his brows, but he keeps eye contact with Eddie, and he's so fucking glad that they know each other well enough to communicate this way. Richie says with his eyes, _Where the fuck is she and when the fuck is she coming back?_

 

Eddie shrugs and says, "I think she went to the salon." _Fuck if I know, but she should be back soon._

 

So Richie watches as Eddie erases a few problems on his geometry homework and does them again, getting Sam's approval and moving on to the next, then the next, going faster under the silent pressure closing in on him. Sam is watching Eddie quietly, intensely, and Richie can't help but narrow his eyes at the bastard.

 

Overall, Richie thinks he's doing a pretty good job of keeping himself under control, considering Sam won't take his fucking eyes off Eddie, and more specifically, Eddie's face. It's sick. What does a guy his age want with Eddie? Well, Richie can imagine what he wants, and definitely can't let himself think about that, or he might lunge over the table and tackle Sam to the ground.

 

Eddie gets up a couple times to get some water, offers them both something to drink, takes his time getting back to his seat, and Richie can't blame him. Sam says very little, and it's so awkward and tense and Richie wants nothing more than for Eddie's mom to hurry the hell up and get home so he can get Eddie away from here.

 

Richie looks up at the clock on the wall; he's not sure exactly how much time has passed, but it's almost five and if Sam showed up a little after Richie dropped Eddie off, he's been here for over an hour. Long enough- he should be leaving by now.

 

Eddie gasps and jumps out of nowhere, knocking into the table and leaning away from Sam, closer to Richie. Sam has his hand on Eddie's, on top of the table, fingers wrapped around Eddie's pinkie and ring finger, and he lets go abruptly.

 

What the fuck.

 

Richie looks at Eddie, who is staring at Sam with his mouth open slightly, in disbelief, pulling his hand back and down against his side. And Sam- the guy is calm and unaffected, just sets his hand on the table and gives Eddie a peculiar look.

 

"Dude, what the fuck?" Richie hears himself say, his voice deep and demanding. "Don't touch him."

 

Sam says, "What do you mean?" with no expression or visible reaction to Richie's words.

 

Richie sits up straighter and clenches his fists on the table. "Just what I said; _don't touch him_. He doesn't like it, and he doesn't fucking like you. Quit being such a fucking creep."

 

Eddie seems to snap out of the surprise that's kept him quiet, and touches Richie's arm gently. "Rich, it's fine, just-"

 

"It's not fine!" Richie says, harsher than he intended, and Eddie flinches away at his tone. He addresses Sam, "Eddie doesn't want you, and he doesn't want you bothering him all the time. So knock it off or _we_ -" Richie waves his hand between his chest and Sam's direction "-are gonna have a problem."

 

Sam turns to Eddie, speaking directly to him, and says, "You know, Eddie, your mom is okay with it. I talked to her about taking you out, and she approves."

 

Richie sees the troubled confusion in Eddie's furrowed brows, his tense shoulders, and the way he can't seem to look at anything other than the table. Richie knows he should stay calm, because Eddie said he can handle it, and he's not weak or fragile and can totally take this guy down if he needs to; but seeing Eddie this way, scared and caught off-guard, makes Richie's protective side rear up and disregard anything else.

 

"Are you fucking serious?" Richie's voice gets louder, and he's not quite shouting, but he will be if this fucker doesn't back off. "No! Fucking _no_! His mom is fucking nuts, she's not- she can't decide that for him!"

 

Sam finally reacts; he inhales deeply, a small crack in his demeanor, and tells Richie, "I don't think this is any of your business. Eddie is an adult, and he can answer for himself." He reaches out and pats Eddie's shoulder in what is probably supposed to be a comforting way, and says to him, "Don't you hate it when people try to speak for you? I know I do."

 

" _Don't touch him_!"

 

"There's no need to shout, Richie," Sam says, his tone belittling.

 

Richie gets up and puts himself between Eddie and Sam, his back to Eddie but speaking to him. "Eddie, tell this asshole to get out of your house."

 

"Richie, stop," Eddie says in a small voice. "I don't-"

 

"Fine, I will, " Richie cuts him off, sneering down at Sam with a strong flood of revulsion rushing through him. "Get out."

 

"I'm employed by Mrs. K.," Sam points out, as though it actually fucking _matters_. "I'm not abandoning my job post."

 

Richie gets louder. "Get the _FUCK_ out of here!"

 

"No."

 

There are a lot of reasons Richie shouldn't hit him, and he starts listing them mentally to keep his fist from slamming into Sam's nose. If he hits Sam, Mrs. K. will find out and ban him from the house, Eddie will get in trouble, possibly grounded, and possibly put on lock down for the rest of high school. If he hits Sam, then he's a stupid Neanderthal with no sense in him. And if he hits Sam, then Eddie will be pissed, because he'll think Richie doesn't respect or believe in him.

 

Sam stands up then, taller than Richie, and faces him head on, but Richie won't stand down. "You know," Sam begins, voice low and even. "It's okay to be jealous, kid. We all want things we can't have."

 

Richie carefully schools his expression. "No, just creeps like you."

 

Sam ignores him and goes on "You can break anyone down if you try hard enough." Sam glances at Eddie and licks his lips lustfully, and without taking his eyes off him, says, "Then you take what you want."

 

Richie steps back, bewildered. He should hit him. He _wants_ to hit him. But all he gets a chance to do is shout, "GET OUT!" just as the front door slams. It draws Richie's attention away and to the hall, where Mrs. K. is standing, holding a paper bag full of groceries, scowling deeply in Richie's direction as she makes her way into the kitchen.

 

She glances between each of them, her eyes softening when they land on Eddie, and she says, "Eddie, why is your friend screaming in my house?"

 

Richie doesn't give Eddie a chance to talk. "This guy is harassing Eddie," Richie says shakily, pointing an accusing finger at Sam. "And he, he won't stop. He won't back off."

 

Mrs. K. sighs and sets the bag on the counter. "Richie, I tolerate your presence because, for some reason I have never understood, my son likes having you around." She pulls out a package of ground beef and places it close to the stove. Richie watches Eddie, who is keeping his eyes on his mom wearily. "But I will not tolerate you shouting in my house, especially at Eddie's _tutor._ " She turns and shoots Sam an apologetic look, "Sam, will you stay for dinner? You've done so much to help my Eddie-bear, I just want to thank you."

 

A muscle in Richie's temple jumps, and he's about five seconds from laying into her, too, when Eddie gets up and takes him by the arm, and hisses close to his ear, "Go. Climb up to my room."

 

He doesn't want to. He wants to scream at Eddie's mom, at Sam for being such a lecherous dick, even at Eddie, for treating this like it's something that can be ignored. One look at Eddie's pleading eyes has him crumbling, though, and he allows himself to be steered toward the front door.

 

Richie rushes around the side of the house and throws himself at the base of the tree. He scales it quickly, scraping-up his hands on the rough surface of each limb, but he barely notices the sting, still far too wound up for it to even register.

 

The window is unlocked and he goes in, sliding his legs in first and trying to stay as quiet as possible. When he has the window shut and locked he waits, sitting down on the edge of Eddie's bed and inhaling the soothing scent of laundry.

 

He's still pissed. Sam's words were... _wrong_. Wrong and horrible and scary and- shit, Richie didn't think he was capable of being surprised anymore, not after everything with Pennywise. But he is, and he's a little freaked out.

 

The door opens a bit and Eddie slips inside, clutching his backpack by one of the straps and his books under his arm. Richie gets to his feet and pushes thoughts of Sam and what he said out of his mind, and prepares to be chastised- but Eddie doesn't do that. He lifts his head and peers at Richie from beneath his hair, which has fallen a little over his eyes, and he looks so ashamed and insecure and fuck- Richie is such a fucking moron. Why did he have to hulk out and act like a god damn idiot?

 

"Eds, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

 

"Richie, stop," Eddie says firmly, and Richie snaps his mouth shut. He stands there like a moron while Eddie steps around him and tosses his backpack down on the bed, and Richie tries to think of something he can say other than he's sorry, and that he's a fucking animal and he can't back down when he knows he should. Eddie sinks down on the bed and pulls his feet up off the floor. He crosses them and pushes his hair away from his face, letting out a heavy, tired sigh. "I just... I want to go to sleep."

 

Richie stays silent.

 

"I want to go to the fair tomorrow and pretend none of this happened," Eddie says, pulling at a loose thread on his left sock, tucked under his right knee. "Can we just... can we do that? I don't want to talk about this or anything else. Please."

 

Fuck no, Richie wants to say, but he suppresses the urge and nods. "Yeah, of course, whatever you want. Whatever you need."

 

Eddie says, "I'm a little pissed at you," but he doesn't sound like he is. "I had to tell my mom I was feeling sick to get away. She tried to tell me, again, that you're a bad influence, and that I shouldn't let you act like that in my house." Eddie rolls his eyes. "Now she's gonna come up here pretty soon with a thermometer and some soup, and she'll kill me if she finds you in here. So... you can't stay."

 

When Eddie cracks a smile up at him, Richie can't help but grin back. "How is that my fault?" he asks teasingly, approaching the edge of the bed and dragging a finger over the soft, blue comforter. "All I did was defend your honor. I think that deserves a reward."

 

Eddie snorts. "You were just hissing and spitting. Like a cat."

 

"Cats are cute. I can accept that."

 

Eddie says, "You're more like a big, goofy dog."

 

"So if I tackle you down and lick your face, you won't question it?"

 

"Oh my god, Richie." Eddie makes a face, and his eyes are much lighter than Richie has seen them in a while.

 

It's so strange how much Eddie can alter Richie's mood. He was so angry before, but now that he's here with Eddie, just talking to him, he feels loads better. How can this boy effect him so much? It's like, what he feels for him cancels everything else out, even his darker, deeper thoughts.

 

Eddie gets to his feet, gazing up at Richie with that look again as he moves closer to him, arms lifting and sneaking under Richie's to wrap around his waist. Richie almost forgets to breathe as Eddie presses himself against Richie's chest, arms moving up Richie's back to grip him tight and somehow pull him even closer

 

It takes Richie only seconds to react and then he's got one hand at the nape of Eddie's neck, the other low on Eddie's back, Eddie's temple resting on Richie's shoulder as the damp warmth of Eddie's breath puffs against the side of his throat. There's no space between them, no room to move or adjust, and it's so hard for Richie to remember that this is his friend, his Eds, who just needs the comfort of a familiar body, someone who he knows won't hurt him. Who will _never_ hurt him.

 

Eddie's voice is muffled and quiet when he says, "Thank you, Richie," so close to Richie's skin, setting Richie's skin aflame with shivers. It's takes all of Richie's self-control to stop himself from turning just enough to press his mouth to Eddie's, walk him backwards and lower him to the bed, then crawl over him and fit himself between his thighs.

 

Richie's heart is beating so hard that he doesn't hear the loud knocking on the door at first, mistaking the sounds for the thudding in his ears. Eddie does, though, and hurries him over to the window, throwing it open and saying something about his mom and getting grounded- Richie isn't sure, exactly, but he climbs out the window without protest. Looking back, he smiles stupidly at Eddie, his insides close to bursting when Eddie blushes and waves him away.

 

His head clears a little once he's at the base of the tree and he's headed over to his car, keys in hand. When he unlocks the door and slides into the seat, he catches sight of Sam's Chrysler turning the corner at the end of the street.

 

He's still pissed, still freaked out over Sam's eerie words, but he's not going to let it all ruin his good mood. So he drives away and keeps his mind on Eddie, reveling in the crazy good feeling of having Eddie in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reddie Mix-Tape: 
> 
> Side One:  
> 1\. Lovesong - The Cure  
> 2\. Got My Mind Set On You - George Harrison  
> 3\. Knock Three Times - Tony Orlando, The Dawn  
> 4\. Open Arms - Journey  
> 5\. Genius of Love - Tom Tom Club  
> 6\. Amanda - Boston  
> 7\. Heartbreak Beat - The Psychedelic Furs  
> 9\. Stand By Me - Ben E. King  
> 10\. My Girl - The Temptations  
> 11\. Point of No Return - Expose 
> 
> Side Two  
> 12\. You've Got To Hide Your Love Away - The Beatles  
> 13\. Sweet Child O' Mine - Guns N' Roses  
> 14\. Heroes - David Bowie  
> 15\. Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd  
> 16\. Just What I Needed - The Cars  
> 17\. Nothing Else Matters - Metallica  
> 18\. I Think I Love You - Ernest Kohl  
> 19\. I Can't Wait - Nu Shooz  
> 20\. Sugar, Sugar - The Archies  
> 21\. Tell It To My Heart - Taylor Dane  
> 22\. Take My Breath Away - Berlin
> 
> I might link this on my tumblr- it's on my Spotify playlist. 
> 
> One last thing- If I somehow manage to get the next one done before the weekend is over- do you guys want it sooner? Or do you want me to wait and post it next Sunday or Monday? Let me know your thoughts, please :)


	3. Everybody Hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!  
> So this took ridiculously long for me to write. I think it might be because of the content- it's incredibly difficult to write. I've been going over it and trying to cut it down because it is LONG. Sorry if you don't like long updates- I just couldn't cut it back anymore than I already have.  
> The Red Hot Chili Peppers toured in 91-92 I believe. But like I said from the beginning, I'm not sticking to history. At least, not completely. 
> 
> There is a heavy TRIGGER WARNING for this one. Sexual harassment, battery, and intent to assault and/or rape.  
> Sorry this took so long. I'm not happy with it, and I actually wanted to toss the whole thing and write the chapter all over again, but I want to move on to the next one so I decided to accept this one and- well, here it is. 
> 
> Please, if you are in a situation like this (it doesn't have to be to this extent) tell someone you trust and put a stop to it before it gets worse.

There's an unexpected rise in temperature come Saturday, and when Eddie is showered and dressed and ready for the day, he starts to wonder if it’s worth bothering with the fair at all. It's Halloween themed with costumes heavily encouraged, but he’s had no time to think about any kind of costume. The best he can come up with at the last minute is an old black, hooded robe hiding in the back of his closet, and a pair of combat boots from his sophomore year that still fit him; he sets them out on his bed, considering them briefly before he decides he can pull off dressing as a wizard.

 

Eddie looks at the clock on his dresser and feels his insides squirm; it's almost ten, when Richie is supposed to pick him up, and he's so damn nervous he can't stop pacing his room while constantly shooting glances out the window. The craziness of yesterday is still fresh in his mind, and it took a great deal of effort for Eddie to be able to fall asleep last night without worrying himself into a full night of nightmares. Everything Sam said, everything Sam has done so far is constantly running through Eddie's mind, and all he wants is a fun day with his friends where he can forget about Sam and his grades and his mom and everything in his life that’s stressing him out.

 

He catches sight of Richie's car pulling up and he grabs his backpack, stuffed full of his makeshift costume and shoes, and rushes out of his room and down the stairs. His mom tries to tell him to stop but he doesn't, he just calls back to her that he'll be home late and slams the front door without saying goodbye.

 

In the car he keeps stealing quick looks at Richie, listening closely as he goes on about a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert that's coming up nearby, and how much he wants to go but the tickets are sold out and it’s expensive, anyway. His enthusiasm is infectious and Eddie starts smiling, wanting to somehow make it happen for Richie, just to watch him have fun and dance and get everything he deserves for being as great a friend as he is.

 

The plan is to meet at Bev's house and so they head there. Mike's truck is already out front, and when they get inside they find Stan there, too. Bev snatches Eddie's backpack from him when they gather in the kitchen for some awesome sandwiches made by Bev's awesome aunt, and she pulls the robe out, looking it over with a raised brow. "So, are you gonna be the grim reaper, or...?"

 

Eddie accepts a glass of tea from Bev's aunt with a thank you and shrugs, taking a sip before he says, "A wizard."

 

Mike laughs and leans against the counter beside him. "You should be Darth Vader so Stan can be Luke Skywalker.”

 

Richie looks at Stan, who is taking a perfectly-sized bite of his sandwich, and says "Wait, are you not dressing up? Where the fuck's your costume? You can't flake on us."

 

Bev's aunt, who has the same red hair and freckled face as her niece, sends a playful glare in Richie's direction and says, "Hey, kid, watch your fucking mouth."

 

"Sorry."

 

Stan swallows his mouthful and smirks, digging a chain out from beneath the collar of his dark blue, buttoned shirt and holding it out for all to see. It's a crucifix. "My costume is a Christian."

 

Bev takes Eddie's costume and drags him to her room, and makes him sit on the bed while she rummages through her dresser. He waits patiently as she tosses a few things on the comforter, then plops down across from him, grinning as she unscrews the lid off a jar of some kind of shimmery powder.

 

Eddie almost tells her no when she dips the tip of her finger in the jar and holds it out close to his eye, but she assures him that it's not going _look_ like makeup, and he trusts her, so he allows it. She pats the silvery powder on the outer corners of his eyes and explains that it will make him look more "wizardy and mysterious", whatever that means.

 

Bev finishes with him and makes Richie sit next, and Eddie watches as she smudges a tiny bit of dark liner under Richie's eyes. Richie flinches and giggles when it smears, then pulls his shirt up and over his head to reveal a white, wife beater beneath; Bev hands him a leather jacket he shrugs on and a pair of ridiculous looking fangs that he slips into his mouth. He looks… good. Different, but good.

 

Richie winks at him, and Eddie tries very hard not to stare at...well, _everything_.  He fails horribly. "So Eds, do I look scary enough?"

 

His glasses still look ridiculous, but the liner makes his eyes look deep and becoming, and the jacket is a little big but the collar accentuates the pale skin of his throat and clavicle. "Um, sure, yeah," Eddie manages, but his cheeks burn and he looks away.

 

Bev throws on a blue sundress and ties a pink apron around her neck and waist, while Mike pulls on a red, plaid flannel and cargo pants. They announce that they are Dan and Roseanne Connor, and Eddie holds back laughter while Richie snorts and suggests that Stan dress up as Jackie.

 

They pile in Richie's car and head out around two, singing "Slow Ride" with the windows rolled down and Derry fading from view behind them. Eddie feels so much better like this, with the wind blowing through the car, safe with his friends and away from the bullshit with Sam and his mom and school. He's got a pile of unfinished homework sitting on his desk at home, probably a lecture waiting for him the second he walks through the door, but he doesn't care; he's not going to worry about any of it now.

 

The fair is a few minutes outside of Old Town, in a large field close to the Stillwater River, with the ground buried under a pretty mix of red, orange and yellow leaves. It’s surrounded by a chain link fence and a smattering of trees, with hastily drawn arrows stood up on wet-floor signs pointing to some rows of cars off to the sides. Richie parks next to an Impala with tinted windows and they quickly get out.  Eddie fans himself under the bright sun, starting to regret the heavy robe.

 

Eddie spots some rides in use and hears high pitched screaming before they get inside the fence, and he's so distracted by it that he doesn't notice Richie pay for his ticket and wristband. When he does, he turns to Richie right at the gate and starts to protest, but Richie ignores him and takes him by the shoulders, steering him inside the gate while Mike laughs and Stan says something about Richie being a gentleman.

 

"This is for your birthday, remember?" Richie explains, flapping the back of his jacket in an attempt to cool off. "Let us spoil you."

 

Eddie sighs and accepts the ticket Richie holds out to him, but he says, "I can pay for myself," and tries to snatch the wristband out of Richie’s hand.

 

Richie holds it away from him and snags Eddie's wrist, then pushes the long sleeve up and out of the way. "I  _know_ you can, but let us do this for you. Okay?"

 

Holding his breath, Eddie waits as Richie pops the band open and slides it over his wrist, his long fingers gently pinching the clasp together and brushing against his skin. It only lasts a few seconds, but it's enough time for Eddie to recall the way Richie responded to him last night, when he gave in to the urge to wrap his arms around Richie and hug him tight. His heart thumps hard as he wishes for more of the same, for Richie's hands to be on him, holding him, _touching_ him- and that's scary enough to snap him out of his thoughts.

 

There's a lot to do, and while it's not too crowded yet, they still end up waiting in line for the first few rides they all get on together. Eddie white-knuckles the safety bar over his lap when Mike convinces him to try getting on the scrambler, squished between Stan and Richie with his eyes shut tight and his friends screaming in delight on either side of him. Mike gets sick after that one, but Eddie is strangely invigorated. Mike sits out on the faster rides, holding the Loser's belongings while Bev pleads with Stan to get on everything else with her.

 

"Please please please please _please_ , Stanley?" Bev begs with her hands clasped together as they stand in line for the Crazy Train. She pouts and pulls out some pretty impressive puppy eyes. Stan sighs and gives in.

 

They go through a few more lines before Richie claims that he's hungry, and he drags Eddie with him to get some nachos. Eddie grumbles when Richie tries to pay for his food, and elbows him in the ribs to get him out of the way. Mike, Bev and Stan get some food, too, and they all sit together at the cleanest table they can find. Looking around, Eddie notices the crowd growing thicker as the sun starts to go down, and he knows that soon it will be too packed to enjoy.

 

There's a haunted house Bev and Richie really want to walk through, and Eddie doesn't think it's a great idea, but he goes along. He huddles close to Richie's back as they're all waved through the open gate with a flash of their wristbands. Right inside the gate is an open door leading down a dimly lit, narrow hall, with a pitch black doorway at the very end. It doesn't  _look_ that scary, but there's music playing from somewhere that sounds like it's right out of a scary movie and the effect has goose bumps breaking out up and down Eddie's arms. Stan is breathing heavily behind him, and Eddie feels his fingers clutching the back of his robe, pulling slightly.

 

Bev and Mike are leading the way and in a quick flash of light and screaming that comes from a door bursting open to the right, Eddie notices that the two of them have their hands clasped together. He focuses on that as Stan jumps and steps on the heel of his boot, and he follows Richie through the doorway.

 

As they go along Eddie starts to get a little scared, and he feels really stupid when he follows his friends through what appears to be an empty room with a coffin in the middle, and the coffin pops open and a man jumps out, dressed as a corpse and crying out in a poor imitation of a zombie. But Richie- Richie actually steps back and grabs Eddie's arm, visibly shaken as they continue on to the next room and he won't stop looking back at the man, who is slowly closing the lid of the coffin.

 

At the exit there's a tall man dressed as Leatherface, complete with chainsaw, who starts it up in the quiet and chases them out the door. Once Eddie is outside and breathing fresh air, he turns to Richie to ask if he’s okay, and is relieved to see he's laughing with Bev, the two of them talking excitedly and comparing the scares to other years, other haunted houses.

 

"That was stupid," Stan says beside Eddie, rubbing his bare arm and glancing over his shoulder at the dark exit. To Eddie, he says, "Do you want to go look at the animals? I want to go look at the animals."

 

"I do," Mike says before Eddie can answer, and he throws his arm over Stan's shoulders with a grin. "Come on, I need to check out some of the horses anyway," and he goes on explaining something to Stan about horse shoes and brushes as Bev follows them, leaving Eddie alone with Richie.

 

Richie wants to walk around and Eddie can't think of anything he wants to do, so they set off at a slow pace, keeping the chain link fence to the right and the fair to the left. A glance down at his watch tells Eddie it's close to six and _wow_ \- how the hell did the time fly so fast? At least none of them have anywhere to be early tomorrow, so they can stay out as late as they want. Or, as late as Eddie is willing to risk, since his mom is the only one who's going to give him shit for being gone all day.

 

Laughter and music fill the silence between them, and Eddie takes a moment to look sideways at Richie; all night he hasn't been able to look at him for more than a few seconds without feeling his face go red, and he feels it start to color now. Richie looks… he can't even explain it. The Lost Boys vampire look works well on him, but there's also something about his eyes and the damn black liner Bev put on him- they keep pulling Eddie's attention directly to them.

 

While Eddie is trying to keep his mind off Richie's stupid face and stupid eyes, Richie tucks his hands in his pockets and bumps Eddie's arm with his elbow. "So, Mike and Bev, huh? What do you think of that?"

 

Eddie shrugs one shoulder and crosses his arms, fiddling with the long sleeves of his robe. "Doesn't bother me. I figured it might happen."

 

Richie nods, his fingers twitching when he takes his glasses off and starts to clean the lenses with the hem of his shirt. "I'm happy for them, I guess, but I'm a little jealous, too."

 

Eddie frowns at Richie as they near the end of the fence, dark behind a booth that smells like corn dogs and beer. "Jealous of what?"

 

Richie stops walking and pulls the fake fangs out of his pocket, rubbing his thumb over the pointed teeth as he says, too casually, "They have each other, you know? And Mike's liked her for a while. Guess I'm envious of his bravery."

 

"Why?"

 

Richie slides his glasses back on without taking his eyes off Eddie, giving no answer but a resigned look that passes over him quickly. If Eddie were looking elsewhere he would have missed it, and he feels like an opportunity slips between his fingers when Richie looks away.

 

"So who do you think would win?" Richie asks, moving into the shadows behind the booth, hidden from view of other fair-goers. "Wizard, or vampire?"

 

Eddie collects himself and follows, shivering in the chilly air- a welcome change from the heat of the day. "I don't know. Wizard, I guess."

 

Scoffing, Richie holds the fangs up in front of him and says, "Eds, my friend, a vampire can _turn_ a wizard. Therefore, the vampire is superior."

 

"Yeah, but wizards use magic," Eddie points out. "They can blast a vampire with, I don't know, fireballs, or make sunlight appear and burn them. Vampires don't stand a chance."

 

Richie is full on smiling now, and somehow Eddie has ended up with his back close to the fence and Richie in front of him, advancing on him. "But vampires are alluring," Richie says, moving closer still. "They’ve got their looks and charm to seduce their victims and catch them off-guard."

 

Eddie steps back. "Wizards can see through that, though," he says, holding his arms out behind him and feeling for the fence with his fingers. "A vampire can't trick them that way."

 

"You sure about that?" Richie teases, slipping the fangs into his mouth and raising a challenging brow. "Or are you scared, Wizard?"

 

Eddie knows Richie is messing around- he can be such a child sometimes- but the look Richie's giving him is playful and, well, _flirtatious_ , if he’s honest. "I'm not scared, asshole," Eddie replies as he steps back again, his shoulder blades touching the fence.

 

"You wound me, Eds."

 

Eddie is prepared for Richie to lunge at him so he lifts his arms- to shove him away if he tries to get him in a headlock and mess up his hair, or hit him if he tries to do something stupid like _tickle_ him, as he usually does- but Richie doesn't try for either of those things. Instead, Richie closes the space between them and wraps his fingers around Eddie's wrists, pinning them to the fence on either side of Eddie's head as he presses Eddie back against the cool metal, trapping him between the fence and his body.

 

The fence rattles and Eddie's pulse trips up; Richie is pressed entirely against him, so close- _too_ close, with no room to breathe or think or even get away if he wanted to. He's never been this physically close to anyone, has never _wanted_ to be- not like this. All his thoughts and desires when it comes to Richie are about simply being together, holding hands as openly as Mike and Bev, kissing under the shade of a tree as they study, holding each other when one of them is scared, giving each other tight crushing hugs and compliments and just being there for each other. _Always._

 

Richie looks down at him, his hands tightening over Eddie's wrists, and Eddie's breath comes out embarrassingly shallow when Richie says, "You gonna fireball me, or you gonna let me win?"

 

"Fuck off, Tozier," Eddie manages to say, and he wiggles his hands in a weak attempt to throw Richie off. "You don't w-"

 

Eddie's words fail him when Richie's leg slips between his and Richie's thigh brushes against him, against his- against _there_. The quick jolt of surprise and pleasure that shoots through him makes him gasp, and he stares up at Richie with a combination of wonder and uncertainty.

 

Then Richie ducks his head against him, in the space between his neck and shoulder, and he _bites_ the skin below Eddie's ear and- Eddie makes a sound he's never made before, and he feels _need_ rush through his body, and he _wants_ Richie to get closer and touch him everywhere, maybe bite him again and his face feels like it's on fire and he can't believe Richie just-

 

Richie lifts his head away, his eyes hooded when he looks down at Eddie. "You're supposed to be trying to get away," he says, but his voice is different- _deeper_ , than Eddie has ever heard it before.

 

Eddie licks his lips, unable to tear his gaze away from Richie's mouth, and says, "I don't want to," so quietly he thinks that maybe Richie didn't hear him. He wants to lean in and touch Richie's lips, to fit against him perfectly and never let go, but he doesn't try. It doesn’t matter that they're pressed so close- a doubt still lingers in the back of his mind, because what if Richie is just messing around? How can he know anything for sure?

 

Richie releases him and he backs away slowly, his eyes dropping to look at the ground as he pulls the fangs out of his mouth. "Sorry, Eds, I shouldn't have..."

 

Eddie doesn't say anything, _can't_ say anything. He doesn't get a chance to react and decide how he's feeling, because Bev, Mike and Stan find them then, and he's not sure how they did, but Richie walks off with Stan and Mike and Eddie joins Bev in line for some ride she wants to get on again.

 

Just like that, whatever was going to happen is over, and Eddie is left feeling confused and a little hurt.

 

The fair isn't as fun after that. They only stay a couple more hours, and during that time Richie seems to avoid being alone with him. Eddie rides with Bev or Stan, and Richie sticks with Mike, and Eddie can't stop the sharp sting of rejection as it repeatedly jabs him in the chest.

 

When they leave he tries to get in the backseat, but Richie tells him to get his ass in front where he belongs. The urge to tell Richie to fuck off and leave him alone is strong, but he's too tired to argue or put the effort in to staying angry, so he gets in the front and pretends to fall asleep against the window.

 

It's out of the way for him, but for some reason Richie takes everyone else home first. It's quiet except for the radio once Stan exits the car and they're alone, and it stays that way as Richie backs out of the driveway and looks over his shoulder, his hand resting on the back of Eddie's seat while he's half turned around to see behind the car.

 

Eddie is set on staying quiet the whole way, but then Richie sighs and turns the music down, and says, "Eddie, I'm sorry."

 

"Why?" Eddie asks, because he's not sure what Richie is apologizing for- getting too close, or not getting close enough. "You didn't do anything."

 

"I shouldn't have touched you like that," Richie explains, and Eddie turns to look at him. "I...It's bad enough Sam does it. I don't ever want to treat you like that, even when we're just joking around."

 

"Rich, you..." Eddie begins and trails off, unsure what to say. Richie is nothing like Sam. He's not even in the same ballpark. Richie is good and kind and, yeah, maybe he's an idiot sometimes, but he has never hurt Eddie. Not the way Sam has.

 

Richie says, "You don't have to say anything," and shifts gears smoothly, turning down the dark streets in Eddie's neighborhood. He's silent for a bit, then says, "We should go to the quarry tomorrow," like he didn't just apologize for some bullshit he didn't even do. At least, not in the way he thinks he did.

 

When Eddie gets out of the car he watches Richie drive away from the front porch before heading inside. Bracing himself for a lecture, Eddie peeks into the living room as he enters the house, and finds his mom asleep in her chair. He sighs, relieved, and locks up before heading upstairs.

 

Eddie gets into bed after his nightly routine and pulls his headphones on, squishing them down over his hair. He listens to side one of Richie's mix-tape and tries to shut his mind down. He doesn't want to think about Sam too much, but he isn't sure how else to deal with it.

 

As "Heartbreak Beat" starts, Eddie shivers and turns over on his side, curling up in a tight ball and putting all thoughts of Richie out of his head. He closes his eyes; it takes a while, but eventually his body relaxes and he's able to fall into a restless sleep.

 

He wakes up around nine the next morning, stretching and yawning widely, and he feels just as tired as he did when he went to bed. Pushing the covers away, Eddie sits up and starts to get ready for the day with the radio on. There’s some kind of giveaway coming up next week, but he doesn’t catch what it’s for, so he turns if off and calls Richie from the phone in the hall. Richie tells him he'll be there in twenty, and to bring his cassette player and some tapes, so Eddie packs up his backpack and grabs his boombox, then heads downstairs.

 

As he passes by the living room he keeps his head down and turned away, carefully avoiding making even a second of eye contact with his mother. He makes a couple peanut butter banana sandwiches, wraps them up and stuffs them in his backpack, then sits at the table and waits, keeping his eyes on the clock. He picks at his nails and hopes his mom leaves him alone, because there's no way he can have any kind of conversation with her right now, not without freezing up or losing his temper. Naturally, because he's thinking too loud, she comes into the kitchen and stands over him, her eyes full of bitterness and disappointment, and Eddie can't help but feel a little ashamed of himself.

 

Before she says anything, she goes over to the drawer that holds nick-knacks and pulls out a folded up sheet of paper and a cassette, both with his name written in loopy cursive on them. The writing looks familiar, and Eddie's insides twist when he realizes it's the same writing as the note from Sam.

 

His mom sets both down in front of him, looking at him expectantly, crossing her arms over her chest and taking a deep breath. "Sam brought those for you last night," she says quickly. "Sweetheart, Sam likes you very much, and he's a nice boy- you should give him a chance. There aren't many thoughtful, considerate men out there."

 

"I don't like him, mom," Eddie tells her, pushing both the note and tape away. "He's too old for me, and he-" he looks away from her, swallowing his nerves down before he says, "He's _creepy_ and I don't, I don't want to be around him.  He won't stop bothering me, and he-"

 

"Don't be scared," she cuts him off, "I know it's a lot to handle at your age, but Eddie," she says, touching his cheek with her clammy palm and forcing him to look at her. "If you give him what he wants, things will be easy. You'll see."

 

"Mom, no, I don't-" he tries to go on and tell her no, he doesn't want to give Sam anything, doesn't even want to imagine giving in to him, but she doesn't give him a chance.

 

"If you're going to be a fag, you might as well be with a nice boy like Sam, not some dirty little delinquent."

 

Eddie's heart pounds hard at her words. What the hell is he supposed to say to her? Lie? He doesn't want to give Sam a chance, doesn't even want to be in the same room as him. She' won’t understand that Sam may seem nice and polite and all the things she loves, but he's a horrible, disgusting person, who won't leave Eddie alone, who won't stop touching him and saying things that make him feel gross and ugly and uncomfortable.

 

"Besides," she says as she turns around to head back to the living room. "You haven't taken very good care of yourself, sweetie. I'm not sure anyone else is going to want you."

 

Richie shows up a few minutes later and Eddie flees the house, holding back tears and praying they won't fall in the car in front of Richie. He's already been so damn weak in front of him and he can't stand to cry while Richie watches _again_ , has to comfort him _again_ , has to deal with all his emotional bullshit again and again and _again_. _Jesus_ , he's such a fucking whiny ass baby- he doesn't even know how his friends can stand to be around him.

 

So when he gets in the car he tries to act like nothing's wrong. He tells Richie to fuck himself when he makes fun of Eddie's hair, tells Richie he's disgusting when he finds an old gum wrapper shoved in the cup holder, _with_ old gum inside. He's genuinely grossed out by that, but it's Richie and he's used to it, used to his bad habits and forgetfulness, so he tosses it out the window and wipes his hand on Richie's sleeve.

 

The quarry is blissfully empty, which is surprising considering how warm the day is. When they were younger the Losers would strip down to their underwear and leap off the cliff side, weightless for a few amazing seconds before breaking the calm, still surface of the water and sinking into the peaceful silence of the deep. As they've gotten older, they've stopped coming as much, and when they do, they usually scoot down to the area they use to dry off, relaxing close to the water and listening to music together.

 

Richie wants to jump in, even though he hurt himself last time he did it, twisting his ankle dropping too close to the shallow end. Eddie reminds him of this as he heads off down the worn-in path, and listens as Richie tries to come up with excuses for that one time- "One time, Eds, come on!" - and goes as far as to blame Bev, who gave him a playful and gentle shove as he jumped out in front of her.

 

They reach their spot and set their things down, and Eddie looks away as Richie tugs his shirt over his head and shucks off his jeans, hiding his blush and busying himself with setting up the boombox.

 

"Put on my mix!" Richie calls out, and there's a splash as the idiot leaps into the water.

 

"Which one?"

 

"It's in my jeans. Back pocket!"

 

Eddie rolls his eyes but does as he's asked, then sits down to unlace his shoes once "I Won't Back Down" starts echoing around them. "I'm putting on Queen next," he says, and chuckles when Richie sticks his tongue out at him.

 

"Queen is probably the only good thing in your sad, sad collection," Richie comments, shaking his wet hair out of his eyes. "And Social Distortion," he adds, winking.

 

Eddie flushes and stands, unbuttons his jeans and pushes them down his legs. "You don't get to shit on my music. _My_ stereo, _my_ choice."

 

" _Nooo_ , not R.E.M! Dear god, _anything_ but them!"

 

"Shut up, you dramatic ass. I'm not putting them on."

 

Eddie is about to pull his shirt over his head, but hesitates; he hasn't had it off in front of anyone for a while, and suddenly he thinks of what his mom always says- that he's gaining weight, that he's too skinny, not manly enough, not tall enough, not muscular enough, just not good enough-

 

He keeps his shirt on and sits at the edge, testing the water first with his fingers, then his toes. It's cold, but not freezing, so he scoots down and starts to lower himself in.

 

Richie is there, swimming over to him with a grin in place as he reaches out and tugs on Eddie's sleeve. "Uh, Eds," he says, and Eddie keeps his eyes on Richie's so they don't drift lower, where small droplets of water are running down his chest. "You forgot something."

 

"No, I didn't."

 

"You left your shirt on, dipshit," Richie says, arching a brow with a shit-eating grin. "Am I really that distracting?  You couldn't wait to get in here with me, could you?" He says, and ducks away laughing when Eddie's arm shoots out to smack him.

 

Eddie sighs and turns around to hide his face- he better just do it, or Richie won't shut up and he'll end up pissing Eddie off and it's really just easier this way. So he pulls it off quickly and tosses it as close to his backpack as he can, then dunks in the water to cover himself up.

 

They swim around each other, Eddie trying to relax as Richie keeps instigating splashing challenges and wrestling and anything else that requires prolonged physical contact. Every time Richie grabs him Eddie squirms away, embarrassed and mortified, because Richie keeps getting so damn _close_ , his hands touching Eddie's bare back and his ticklish sides, lingering over his shoulders and his arms and after last night, Eddie isn't sure he can handle it.

 

He keeps dipping low in the water, wrapping his arms around himself and leaning back against the rock-wall to keep his body concealed. Richie has no shame, stretching and splashing and doing nothing to hide any part of himself- and he really doesn't have any reason to. Where he used to be skinny and bony and awkward he's filled out some; his arms are a little more defined and his chest looks firm and comfortable. Comfortable enough, maybe, for Eddie to lay his head on in the dark, and trace patterns over his skin with his fingers on a quiet night. And as much as he tries he can't keep his eyes off Richie's back, and the pronounced dip in his spine, and his shoulder blades, enticing him with every stroke through the water and- _shit_ , how is he only now realizing how hot Richie is? He's always thought Richie attractive, even back when he was young and obnoxious, but _this_ \- this is completely different.

 

"Hey," Richie says close to his ear, brow furrowed worriedly as he eyes Eddie's arms crossed over his chest. "Why are you doing that?"

 

"Doing what?"

 

"That, like," Richie gestures to Eddie's crossed arms. "You're covering yourself up. Why?"

 

"I'm not," Eddie says, keeping his head down as he moves away. He should have known Richie would notice. As unobservant as he can be at times, he always seems to notice things when it comes to Eddie. "I'm just a little cold."

 

"Bullshit."

 

Sometimes Eddie really hates that Richie knows him so well. "Please, Rich, just," he sighs and looks away, off into the trees, not seeing them. "Just drop it."

 

It seems like Richie might actually listen to him this time; he stays quiet for a bit, but he looks contemplative, and Eddie really shouldn't be surprised when he says, "There's nothing wrong with you," low and quiet enough that if anyone else were around, Eddie would be the only one to hear him.

 

Eddie feels himself closing off and he shies away. "Richie..."

 

"No, don't-" Richie cuts through the water and takes his hands, covering them with his large palms. "Don't shut me out. Talk to me."

 

"There's nothing to talk about."

 

"Then why are you hiding yourself?"

 

Eddie groans and pulls away, frustration and embarrassment building up inside him. "I'm not!"

 

"Yes, you are!"

 

"Fucking _shit_ , Richie," Eddie groans, grabbing on to the rock wall close by for support. His fingers dig into the little crevices littered on the surface as he says, "Can you let it go, please?"

 

"No."

 

"Why? It's not like it matters."

 

Richie scoffs, following Eddie as he attempts to swim away again. "It does matter. Just tell me what the fuck's happening."

 

Eddie knows he can't win like this, not unless he wants to start a stupid, unnecessary argument. But how is he supposed to admit that once again, he's allowed his mom to plant a seed of doubt and self-hatred in his mind? He's eighteen years old and here he is, letting her ruin the things that make him happy, letting her push him into corners and control him and make his decisions, when he's capable of knowing exactly what he wants and what's right for him.

 

Richie tries again, says "Eds, what's going on?" softly, placing his hand on Eddie's shoulder and squeezing gently. "Just tell me."

 

There's no stopping the tears as a few trickle down his cheek, and Eddie hears himself whisper "I'm disgusting," while turning away completely, a poor attempt to keep Richie from seeing him cry again.

 

"What? No, what are you-" Richie moves around him, ducking his head to catch Eddie's eye. "What the hell do you mean?"

 

Eddie snaps. "I _mean_ I'm gross and ugly and- and fucking _hideous_! _God_ , just- why am I like this?" His chest starts to ache in the very center, right where it used to when he would get his asthma attacks as a child. His breath catches as he goes on, saying "I'm such a stupid, weak, disgusting _shit_ \- I don't, I don't look like you or Stan or Mike or- or anyone else! Look at me!" Eddie holds his arms out at his sides, gesturing to his chest and stomach. "What's wrong with me?"

 

"There's nothing wrong with you-"

 

" _Yes, there is_!" He shrieks, and then the tears really start to fall, and he can't stop spilling everything now that he's started, even though his voice is all choked up and he can barely understand what's coming out of his mouth. He goes on. "I'm different. I'm not normal- I don't even have any chest hair or facial hair _and_ I'm small like a girl and no one wants me a-and who would? I'm ugly and I'm worthless and I'm stupid and a- a- a fucking _freak_!"

 

Richie looks surprised at first, and in the silence that follows Eddie's outburst, Eddie sinks lower in the water, keeping his shoulders submerged completely. He looks away, keeping his eyes on anything but Richie, wanting nothing more than to go down head first under the water and stay there.

 

Richie's arms are suddenly around him, pulling him in and Eddie grips his shoulders, burying his face in Richie's hair and continuing to cry in silence. He can't help the tight, squeezing feeling in his stomach, and he _knows_ he's so small and worthless, and just- just _garbage._ He can't understand why Richie continues to listen and put up with his bullshit.

 

He quiets down and feels Richie's head move, then the damp heat of his breath as he murmurs in Eddie's ear, "It's not true. None of it's true, you're so-" Richie pauses for a moment, chuckling humorlessly as he brushes his lips over Eddie's hair. "You don't know how fucking awesome you are, Eds. You just- you don't _see_ it. Where are you even getting this shit from?"

 

He doesn't have to look up to know that Richie has already guessed, but he tries to brush it off, because he's not sure how much more pity he can take, especially from Richie. "Nowhere. I just- I just know."

 

"It's your mom, isn't it?"

 

Eddie doesn't need to respond, so he keeps his head down and his eyes fixed on the water around them, disturbed only by their slight movements.

 

He hears Richie sigh, feels the rush of air over his ear and he shivers, listening closely as Richie says, "That _fucking_...I swear, she's fucking insane. You can't believe her, Eds. She's full of shit."

 

"I don't know," Eddie shrugs one shoulder as he pulls away just enough to put a little bit of space between them. "I've never...no one wants me. I've never had anyone, you know? She said Sam's the only person who will ever want me..."

 

Richie's brows shoot up his forehead and he scoffs, his hands lingering over Eddie's arms. "That's complete bullshit. Do you have any idea how many people like you?"

 

"Come on, Rich..."

 

"No, I'm serious," Richie says. "A ton of people at school like you. They ask me and Stan mostly, you know, for your phone number or if you're single," he pauses, frowning slightly before he goes on. "Most of them want to know if you're interested in dating."

 

Eddie doesn't believe him. "That can't be true. No one's _ever_ tried talking to me like that."

 

Shrugging, Richie moves farther away, his smile a little off when he says, "Maybe you're just not paying attention."

 

Eddie can't think of anything to say, caught up in studying the way Richie's eyes keep darting away from his. He hasn't given the tape much thought the past couple days, hasn't bothered to get his hopes up anymore than they were to begin with. But, watching Richie's strangely shy demeanor, the nervous way he keeps looking around, as though he's been caught with his skin ripped off and his secrets bared, Eddie starts to wonder again...maybe Richie really was trying to tell him something deeper.

 

"I can't blame them, you know."

 

Eddie pulls himself out of his thoughts and finds Richie smirking and coming closer to him again, his long arms pushing through the water easily. "What do you mean?"

 

"I mean, I can't blame them all for liking you so much," Richie says as his shoulders drop beneath the water and he swipes at a strand of hair in his eye. "You're cute and funny, smart, kind. You’ve got a big heart and you’re a great listener.”

 

Shaking his head, Eddie rolls his eyes and says "But that's just being a decent person. It's nothing special."

 

"It _is_ special," Richie insists, and he has his hands on Eddie again, gripping his shoulders to keep him still. "You just, I don't know how you can't see it. You're so cute and sweet, and _brave_."

 

Eddie laughs darkly. "I am _not_ brave, or- or any of that stuff. I'm a coward."

 

"Fuck no. You're amazing."

 

Heat fills Eddie's face and he has to look away- he can't stand the look Richie's giving him, all soft and fond and so much more than he deserves. "Stop, Rich. Please, you don't have to say that stuff. You don't have to- to _lie_ , and make shit up to make me feel better."

 

"You're kidding me, right?"

 

"No, I'm not. I don't want you to lie to me. I'm just... I'm _nothing_." Eddie feels the sting of fresh tears gathering in his eyes. Why can't he just stop with the crying?

 

"Hey."

 

Eddie looks up again, and as much as he wants to hide himself under the barrier of the water he remains still. "What?" He chokes out, fighting the urge to glance away from Richie's suddenly serious expression.

 

Richie is gazing down at him. "I'm not lying. I... I wouldn't lie, not to you." He stops for a moment, considering something, then says, "I really mean it when I say those things.   You're just... I don't know. Amazing."

 

Swallowing thickly, Eddie tries to look anywhere other than Richie, darting his eyes to the side and staring hard at the still surface of the water; but Richie touches his jaw with gentle fingers, bringing Eddie's gaze back to his. Eddie’s face feels like it's going to burn off, and his heart is skipping stupidly inside him, and even though he's in the water he can feel heat creep up his spine as Richie's arm encircles his waist, pulling him flush against him. Eddie clutches Richie's back, inhaling sharply when he feels Richie's hips beneath the water, pressing in close against him; his thighs part slightly, enough to let Richie get just a little closer.  Eddie tries to breathe evenly, but all he can focus on is Richie and his skin and his eyes and his mouth and how damn close they are. When Richie's fingers trail down over his throat with light touches that make him shiver, he has to bite his lip to hold back the noise that threatens to come out.  He's extremely aware of their bare, wet skin pressed together, and each spot where they're touching burns in the best way.  

 

Without meaning to, Eddie digs his nails in to the skin under his palms and Richie gasps, closing his eyes and lowering his forehead to rest against Eddie's. " _Eddie_ ," he whispers, and Eddie's insides start to flutter at the huskiness in Richie's voice. "Don't, um, you shouldn't do that."

 

"Do what?"

 

Huffing out a laugh, Richie opens his eyes, fixing them on Eddie's mouth as he says, "You're so fucking cute. You don't even know what you do..."

 

Eddie's eyes grow wide as Richie leans in, and he- he stops breathing, stops thinking, because Richie's going to- is Richie going to _kiss_ him? Richie's hot breath puffs over his lips, only a few inches between them, so close, and Eddie's never felt his heart pound so hard before-

 

" _HEY_! STOP MAKING OUT DOWN THERE!"

 

Richie turns toward the voice and Eddie backs away quickly, and his face is so red he's not sure how it's not boiling the water around him. He's not the only one, though- Richie is blushing, too, and he's so pale that the red splotches on his cheeks stand out vividly.

 

Looking up, Eddie spots Bev, Mike and Stan looking over the cliff edge, Bev laughing and hollering and slapping Mike with a high five.

 

" _Fuck_ , I forgot I invited them," Richie says, shooting Eddie a shy smile. "Is it bad that I want them to go the fuck away right now?"

 

There's a huge splash nearby and Bev's head emerges from the middle of a long chain of ripples, then Stan and Mike are there, too, and Eddie is forced to pull himself together. He tries hard to act normally, even though he can't stop glancing at Richie and blushing hard whenever their eyes meet. He loves his friends, but right now he kind of wishes they would have held off a little longer before showing up.

 

Mike switches out the tape with something he pulls out of Eddie's backpack, and "I Ran" starts up, prompting a dance-off between Stan and Richie that ends with Richie shoving Stan's head under the water and shouting triumphantly. The afternoon goes on, lighthearted and easy, and even though Eddie is still hurting from his mother's poisonous words from earlier, he has a lot of fun wrestling around with his friends, even when it's Richie and he feels like he can't breathe with their bodies touching so intimately.

 

It's almost nine when Richie drops Eddie off at home. He stalls, looking at the dark porch with a heavy pit of dread settling in his stomach, wanting nothing more than to stay in the car and tell Richie to drive. Anywhere.

 

"Do you want to go see a movie this week?"

 

Eddie turns to watch Richie take a quick drag of the cigarette he's kept out the window the whole drive, the smoke itching his nose before Richie waves it away. "Yeah," he says, nodding eagerly. "Yeah, let's go Wednesday. I have the night off."

 

Richie seems pleased, bobbing his head to the radio as he grins brightly. "Cool. Okay. Yeah, that works."

 

Eddie gets out of the car and he feels much lighter than he did before.

 

: : : :

 

The week starts off slow, colder than the unusually warm weekend, with most of the remaining leaves finally falling off the trees and covering the ground in a blanket of reds and oranges. Eddie sighs when he looks out the window, already planning to get the yard work done before it gets too cold to do so and before his mother starts nagging.

 

He throws a sweater on over his white polo before heading out for the day, and keeps the hood up over his ears through most of the morning, trying hard to keep his thoughts focused on school and _not_ on a certain trash-talker who won't get out of his head.

 

He's got tests in every class this week and no extra help besides the weekly study session with the Losers, so there's just no time to think about anything else. But does his brain give a damn? _No_ _-_ of course not. All he can think about through first period is Richie, zoning out from the lecture to stare out the window and relive the afternoon at the quarry. He's still embarrassed, crying like a huge baby and blubbering all over Richie like a dumb, needy kid, but it's overshadowed by the nerves and anxious squirming in his stomach that starts up anew every time he recalls the feeling of wet arms wrapped around him and warm breath blowing over his lips.

 

In second period Stan cracks two eggs in a pan and says, "Can I ask you something without you getting mad?"

 

"Sure," Eddie replies, a little skeptical, as he starts to push the egg whites toward the yolk with a warped spatula; it doesn't look like the fried egg Mrs. Dawson made earlier, but there's no way to fix it now.  "What's up?"

 

Stan leans against the counter, glancing around at the others in the class, paired off and laughing and not paying attention to them at the last stove top in the corner. "Tell me the truth."

 

"Okay."

 

Stan looks at him evenly. "Were you and Richie kissing yesterday?"

 

Eddie jumps and hisses when the oil pops in the pan and stings his arm. He burns his pinkie on the hot side, and swears as he sucks on the pink spot beside his knuckle. "What the _fuck_ , Stanley? Why would you- what kind of-"

 

"It's a yes or no question," Stan comments, retrieving the little bottle of burn gel from the cabinet under the sink. He hands it to Eddie and takes over with the eggs, scraping the burnt bits out into the sink. "I'd feel bad if we interrupted. I mean, Richie's been wanting to make a move forever."

 

Eddie drops the burn gel, then Mrs. Dawson comes over to them and checks on their progress and there's no more time for talking.

 

Stan's words stay in his head through the rest of class, popping up in his head again at lunch when Richie sits down closer than usual and drops his head on Eddie's shoulder. Richie claims he's tired and doesn't feel well, so Eddie lets him lean on him while pointedly not looking at Stan, who he he can feel smirking at him from across the table.

 

By the end of the day his head throbbing and he can't wait to get home, if only so he can crawl in to bed and take a nap. He leans against Richie's car and rubs his temples, tuning out Mike and Stan's conversation about the stray dogs and the shelter they're working on. 

 

"Got a headache?" Richie asks him, one hand on the car beside him and the other moving Eddie's hair out of the way to get to the back of his neck.

 

"Yeah," Eddie replies, sighing as Richie starts kneading at the stiffness bunched at the nape. "Thank you."   

 

At home Eddie turns on the radio and attempts to fall asleep, but he starts to wonder- and worry- that Sam will show up like nothing happened.  His mom will let him right in, he knows it.  The tape and the note Sam left for him are still downstairs somewhere, probably back in the kitchen drawer, and he has no plans to explore either one. 

 

Eddie turns on the radio and the DJ starts talking about the Red Hot Chili Peppers after "Give it Away" is through playing. Eddie sits up, listening through the pounding in his head. He remembers hearing about the concert over the weekend and a chance to win...

 

" _We got two- that's right, TWO tickets for the sold out RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS show in Essex Junction- NEXT weekend. And we are giving these away to caller number seven, starting... NOW. All you gotta do is call, and lucky number seven gets to see this badass show LIVE and in person..._ "

 

Lucky number seven.

 

Eddie flies out of bed and out of his room, snatching up the phone in the hall and rapidly dialing the number. It's a small chance, he thinks, but he knows how badly Richie wants to go and if he wins-

 

It rings. And rings. And rings. And rings some more. The ringing goes on for several minutes, and Eddie starts to think he should just hang up- it's a long-shot anyway. But then the line picks up and-

 

He's doesn't pay much attention to what the DJ is saying, but he’s caller number seven, somehow, and his headache gets worse as he gives his information over the phone but he doesn't care. He can't wait to see the smile on Richie's face when he tells him.

 

The next day he asks Mike for a ride to Bangor in fourth period. The station is there, and he could ask Richie, but he really wants to keep it a surprise for as long as possible. Mike is happy to take him, and Eddie promises to get him dinner and pay him for the gas, but Mike waves the offers away.

 

"Seriously, Eds, just go with him and have a great time," Mike tells him when they're on their way back to Derry, Eddie clutching the tickets close to his chest and watching the clock; he has to be at the library in an hour. "Dance, mosh, get drunk- but not _too_ drunk- whatever it takes. Just promise me you'll get in the backseat with him and work out some of that tension between you two."

 

Eddie's face radiates heat as he imagines climbing in Richie's backseat, pushed down on the rough fabric as Richie stretches out on top of him, his eyes dark and filled with longing. Richie kisses him softly in his mind, laces their fingers together, his hips fitting perfectly against Eddie's as he drags his mouth down over Eddie's jaw.

 

"It- It's not like that!" Eddie says too loudly, staring hard out the window and willing the twisty, free-falling feeling inside him to settle down. "We're not, we're just..."

 

Mike starts chuckling as he turns up the radio, turning the truck to the right down a long stretch of highway. "Why are you still denying it? It's not like it’s a secret. I mean, I like Bev a lot," Mike says, and Eddie forces himself to look at Mike again. "But, you know, the way Richie talks about you? I can't imagine feeling like that. It's kinda scary."

 

Eddie isn't sure what to make of Mike's words later, stuck in the non-fiction section for a couple hours with an abnormally large amount of books to put away. He wants to believe it, and he has no reason not to. The Losers would _never_ lie about something like this, something that could hurt Eddie so deeply- and Richie, too, if everything they say is true.

 

It's scary just how strong Eddie's feelings have become. It seems like yesterday they were meeting for the first time, Richie with dirty knees and his glasses crooked on his heavily bandaged nose, and Eddie with his fanny pack and his inhaler, gasping on the ground and watching Henry Bowers saunter away after shoving him down on the hard gravel by the monkey bars. He remembers Richie saying something stupid about Henry Bowers having no sense of size difference, then helping him to his feet and just like that, they were friends.

 

If only things were as simple as they were back then.

 

Mrs. Starrett finds Eddie then, gives him some more stuff to shelve, then asks him if he can stay until closing tonight so she can show him how to shut everything down. He agrees, then feels guilty later when Richie shows up at the usual time he's off and decides to wait for him.

 

"It's only a couple hours, Spaghetti -man." Richie tells him, and he plops down at the nearest table. "I'll just read, or, you know, bother you."

 

It's lucky Mrs. Starrett likes Richie, Eddie thinks, because the other librarian, Ms. Inglewood, can't stand him and says he shouldn't be bothering the employees. But Mrs. Starrett hushes her, and tells Eddie that she's grouchy because she's starting her week-long vacation later than planned. Richie laughs, uses his English guy voice to make Mrs. Starrett laugh, and the rest of the night goes smoothly.

 

It's nearly nine when Richie pulls up to Eddie's house. The front light is on and the glare from the television reflects off the front window; his mom is either passed out in her chair or still up, watching her shows and waiting for him to get home.

 

Eddie pulls his backpack into his lap and takes the tickets out of the smaller pocket; he's nervous, but he really shouldn't be. He knows Richie wants to go, that he's going to be happy, but he just can't think of what to say. Quickly, before he loses his nerve, Eddie hands the tickets out to him, his stomach swooping when Richie takes them and their fingers brush.

 

Richie studies the tickets for a moment, his eyebrows moving up his forehead and his eyes wide behind his glasses when he looks at Eddie. "What...?"

 

"They're for you," Eddie blurts out, unable to contain his nervous laughter. "I just thought, that, I don't know, you said you wanted to go, um, and they were giving them away, you know, on the radio. I won them. For you-"

 

"You _won_ them?"

 

"Yes." 

 

"For The Red Hot Chili Peppers?!" 

 

"Yeah, you know, I just had to call. You want to go, right? I mean, if you don't-"

 

Richie leans across the space between them and wraps an arm around Eddie's shoulders, pulling him into an awkward, one-arm hug and kissing him obnoxiously on the top of his head. "Eds, you are- you're awesome. Seriously, this is- this is so fucking cool.” He beams, and Eddie’s heart skips at how genuinely happy Richie is. “We're going to have so much fucking fun!"

 

Eddie can't help but lean into him, smiling as he says, "Well, they're for you. You can take whoever you want. Mike and Stan aren't really fans, but Bev would probably have a great time."

 

"Fuck no. I want _you_ to go with me!"

 

"Um..." Eddie imagines the mosh pit, being up close with all kinds of people he doesn't know, getting knocked over and being forced to inhale all sorts of body odors. He shudders, says, "It's not really my thing. You'd probably have a sucky time if I go with you."

 

Richie scoffs, moving back into his own space. "I don't give a shit! Come on, Eds, please say you'll go?"

 

"I don't know..."

 

"Wait- do you not want to go?" Richie asks, crestfallen.

 

Eddie shakes his head.  "No, I do. I want to. Um, I guess I just, I've never been to a concert like it. I don't know what to expect."

 

Richie nods while looking down at the tickets, his hair hovering over his eyes becomingly, and Eddie's hand twitches with a feeling he doesn't understand. "So, does that mean you'll go?" Richie asks, his voice hopeful, and Eddie nods.

 

Eddie gets out of the car a few minutes later and stands on the porch, watching Richie drive away with a stupid grin on his face. Turning to go inside, Eddie stops when he hears the squeal of brakes and spots headlights coming down the road, slowing down as the car passes in front of his house, and- it's a Chrysler. A beige Chrysler, just like-

 

Sam stops in front of the house completely, and Eddie shrinks back against the front door. God, no, he can't- he can't deal with this right now. He doesn't want to deal with this.

 

Eddie can see Sam turned toward him, watching him steadily with the interior light on. It throws his hard expression into sharp contrast with the shadows in the car. Eddie starts to shake, fumbles with his keys in his pocket as he tries to dig them out and they crash to the wood under his shoes.

 

He bends down to snatch them up and the light inside the car shuts off. The seconds are suspended, stretched as Eddie remains down on one knee, the keys digging into his palm where he's clutching them hard, and he's thinking that he needs to get _inside_ , up in his room where he can lock the door and window and hide-

 

Sam drives away, but Eddie stays seated on the porch a while longer, unable to shake the feeling that Sam wasn't just passing by to creep him out, or scare him, or even get a look at him. No- he can just come right up to the house if he wants, and Eddie's positive his mom would welcome Sam in without a thought for her son.

 

There's a heavy feeling in his gut, some kind of instinct, that's screaming at him to be careful, to watch his back, because there's no doubt in his mind that Sam just gave him some kind of warning.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It's a good thing Richie isn't easily embarrassed, or he would walk around all day red-faced, sweating nervously, all because he can't keep his thoughts off a boy with big eyes, a sweet smile, and an incredibly giving heart.  

 

He can't believe Eddie gave him the tickets.  He's been wanting to see The Red Hot Chili Peppers in concert all damn year, but he knew it would be hard to get his hands on tickets, and now- thanks to his Eds- he gets to go, and he gets to go  _with_ his Eds- _his favorite person_.  In all honesty, Eddie is the most considerate, kind, giving person he knows. Even though all the Losers are good, honest people (except for Richie, of course), there's just something about Eddie's unique brand of kindness that pulls at his nearly non-existent heart strings and makes him feel stupidly mushy inside.

 

On Wednesday Richie can hardly contain himself when he sees Eddie between second and third period, chatting with Stan by his locker, his back to the hall as he removes a textbook and some notes from his backpack. It's too easy to approach him quietly and cover his eyes, pulling Eddie's shorter frame back and up against his chest.

 

"Guess who, Spaghetti-man," he murmurs in Eddie's ear, smiling when Eddie shivers and touches the back of Richie’s hands.

 

"I'd know your voice anywhere, genius," Eddie replies, gently pulling Richie's hands away and turning to face him. His hair hangs a bit over his eyes as he says, "Did we decide what we're seeing tonight?"

 

Richie shrugs, resting his shoulder against the locker. "Nightmare Before Christmas?"

 

"That's child appropriate," Stan says, then to Eddie, "You won't have to sneak Richie in. It's his speed."

 

"Fuck off, Stanley," Richie retorts, laughing at the smug smile curling Stan's lips. He's a little worried about the weekend coming up, Halloween and all the terrible memories now associated with the day. But Stan looks okay. Happy, even. Maybe everything will be okay.

 

"That sounds good," Eddie says, and Richie can't stop himself from lifting his hand and moving the wavy curls away from Eddie's eyes, tucking them back gently behind his left ear.

 

"It's getting really long," Richie comments, tugging playfully at an uncooperative strand. "Are you gonna cut it?"

 

"I don't know," Eddie says, pushing his hands up into the mess and letting out a sigh. "It's kinda annoying, but my mom hates it. I'll probably get tired of it and cut it soon. "

 

Between Eddie's little pout and messy hair, Richie really can't be blamed when he says, "Then I'll get to see those pretty eyes in full view again."

 

Stan lets out a snort but Richie pays him little attention, fascinated by the blush filling Eddie's face, creeping up toward his ears and turning the tips a pinkish red. If only he had the balls to just sweep in and press a kiss to Eddie's lush-looking mouth, tug him close and clutch his hips tight. Instead, he settles for pushing away from the lockers, smiling as he brushes against Eddie's shoulder and heads off to his next class. Stan follows after him, teasing him all through their next two classes, and at lunch when he joins Bev out in the student lot, taking a few needed puffs off a cigarette, he's not surprised when she starts in on him, too.

 

"So, this movie," she says, leaning up against the fence surrounding the lot. "Is it a date?"

 

"No," he replies, kicking at the weeds growing through the cracks in the pavement. "If it was, I'd be shitting myself."

 

"Not gonna lie, you kinda seem like you're shitting yourself."

 

Letting out a sigh, Richie flicks some ashes away, then stares at the glowing end of the cigarette between his fingers. "Well, I want it to be, and, I don't know, it kinda feels like it could be. It's just," he pauses, glances around to check that no one is in earshot. Most of the students are already back in the school, so there's no one around besides a couple guys hanging out by a car far enough away Richie knows they can't eavesdrop. He goes on. "At the quarry, you know, it felt like something."

 

Bev nods, understanding. "Like it was real?"

 

"Yeah." Richie takes a long drag off his cigarette and tosses it away, then blows the smoke out as he says, "I think he would have let me."

 

"Kiss him?"

 

Richie nods, a little embarrassed.  He's talked to Bev about this before, in a way he hasn't with Stan or Mike. Maybe it's because she's a girl, or because she understands him differently than the other Losers, but he finds it easier to tell her why he feels mixed up around Eddie at times. "Why is this shit so fucking complicated?"

 

Bev laughs and finishes off her smoke, then puts her arm around his waist and leads him back toward the school. "Rich, I swear to you, this is a lot easier than you think. If you get your shit together and _tell_ him, he'll fall into your arms and you two can make out like horny little freshman." She winks, then adds, "And I can watch."

 

Richie smirks. "Of course you'd wanna watch, you weird ass perv."

 

He's so damn relieved when the rest of the day flies by and he's finally home. He had to resist touching Eddie again when he dropped him off, so glad to see him smiling after the unexpected outburst at the quarry. He's always been aware of Eddie's low self-esteem, and he suspected it might be getting worse lately, but short of waxing poetry about him, Richie doesn’t know how to make him believe all the great things everyone else can see in him.

 

Richie has thought about that afternoon every night, alone in his room under the shield of darkness, wondering just what would have happened if the Losers hadn't shown up, or had held off a little longer. Would he have had the guts to move in, to crush Eddie against him and kiss him until their skin was pruny and the sun was below the horizon, and the shadows of the trees could hide them from view of any on-lookers or ill-wishers?

 

Probably not, and it's not the most important thing, anyway. As much as he wants Eddie, _needs_ Eddie, he has to make sure he knows just how wonderful he is. And if that means Richie has to stand on the sidelines and tell him he's beautiful forever, then that's what he's prepared to do.

 

It's half hour to six when he decides he should shower, and so he steps under the hot spray and washes his hair, pays extra attention to his underarms, and brushes his teeth. He feels like an idiot going through his dresser, then his closet, searching for a presentable shirt and his best pair of jeans. It's _not_ a date, no matter how much he wants it to be and how much he's going to treat it like one.

 

Richie's considering a blue, button down shirt that's not faded, like most of his clothes, when his mom steps into his room and tsks, going over to him and plucking at the buttons.

 

He moves away from her and holds the shirt out of her reach. "What?"

 

She shakes her head and chuckles, going over to his closet and moving the hangers around. "You're going on a date, aren't you?"

 

Richie flushes and slips his belt in his jeans, buckling up and turning away. "No, I'm just going to the movies. Why?"

 

His mom raises a brow at him, coming over and fluffing up the sides of his hair, scrunching the mess between her fingers. "God, what's happened to this? Maybe it's time for a cut, huh? Or are you still trying to look like a rock star?"

 

Richie recoils when she cups his cheeks and rubs at his very small amount of stubble; she never pays attention to what he's up to. He can't think of any reason for her to start now.

 

After a few awkward moments she leaves, but says "Have a good time with Eddie, sweetheart," over her shoulder.

 

He's got no time to wonder how the hell she knows, because it's now after six thirty and he wants to get going. He almost slaps on some cologne while trying to tame his hair, but feels like a complete idiot when he reaches for the dark bottle; it's Eddie, and it's not a date. There's no reason for him to show up smelling like a dumbass and looking even worse.

 

The blue button-down stays, but he switches his jeans out for a more comfortable pair and heads out the door. Richie fidgets the whole way, turning the music up, then down, switching the tape out a few times until he settles for Queen, since Eddie loves them and will sing along if one of his favorites is playing. He resists smoking, because he knows Eddie will wrinkle his nose when he catches a whiff and, well, he's already cut back to about a pack a week, so he might as well keep going.

 

Eddie is waiting outside when he pulls up. He turns the music down hurriedly when Eddie opens the door and climbs in, bringing the freshly-washed-clothes scent with him and making Richie's heart skip when he grins and buckles up. He looks different, clad in a black, buttoned shirt with the top few buttons undone, and dark jeans that are just a little too big for him, but still look very nice. Eddie doesn't wear a lot of dark clothes, but he _really_ should make it a habit.

 

Eddie looks at him, and Richie sounds like a complete fucking pansy when he quietly says, "Yowza," under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from the way the dark clothing contrasts so well with Eddie's hair and skin and- _fuck_. He's going to do something stupid, like lean over and kiss him, and grab a handful of Eddie's hair and tug his head back to suck on his collarbone.

 

Frowning, Eddie looks down at himself. "What? Why are you staring at me like that?"

 

Richie clears his throat and shifts the car out of park, then pulls away from the curb. "Nothing. I'm not, I- hey, pick out something to listen to."

 

There's only one other person at the booth when they get to the theater, and Richie quickly walks up as soon as they're gone and pays for the tickets. Eddie will usually shove him aside to buy his own, so Richie quickly spins away with the tickets in hand and holds the door open, smirking as Eddie glares and strolls inside, heading for the snack line.

 

Almost every seat is empty when they get inside the dark theater, only a few people up in the front and a guy and girl about halfway down, sucking each others faces off and paying no attention to anything else. Eddie turns to the right and sits down in the back corner, where Richie usually chooses, and they settle down and wait for the movie to start.

 

They're quiet at first, munching on their snacks and staring ahead at the white screen, listening to the idiots up in the front laughing loud and obnoxious. Richie sighs and sneaks a glance at Eddie, jumping when Eddie catches him by surprise with a nudge from his bony elbow and says, "Hey, are you still willing to help me with my homework?"

 

Richie nods. "English?"

 

"Uh, no. I'm pretty sure I bombed my geometry test. So, uh, I could use some help for the next one."

 

"Yeah, we can start this weekend," Richie suggests, popping an m&m in his mouth and chewing it quickly. "Friday and Saturday. Sunday, too, if you want."

 

"But it's Halloween," Eddie says, glancing at the pair that have stopped kissing as they get up and head up the aisle toward the doors. "Aren't you gonna go to a party with Bev or something?"

 

"Nah.  Parties suck." Partying is something Richie did more toward the beginning of high school, but after last year with Stan and a couple drunken make outs with people he can't really remember, he decided it wasn't for him and stopped going. Besides, he'd much rather hang out with his friends and have movie nights at Bev's house, where they can all just be together. "Sunday, actually, I want to be with Stan," he says, taking a moment to keep the memories of last year tucked away in the Unthinkables box. "I just, I want to be there, watch some movies or play some video games. Probably at my house. I... I want him to be okay."

 

"Me, too," Eddie says, shifting around in his seat to face Richie. "We should _all_ do that. Sunday. All day. We'll watch other stuff, too, like St. Elmo's Fire, and Back to the Future. He really likes those ones."

 

"And Terminator."

 

"Oh, and Nightmare on Elm Street!"

 

"We can't forget Pretty in Pink. Stan fucking loves that one."

 

"And Gremlins."

 

The movie starts but Richie keeps his eyes on Eddie. He says, "The Lost Boys," grinning when Eddie flushes and glances down at Richie's mouth. He recalls Eddie's reaction at the fair, when he bit him without thinking with the stupid fake fangs he used for his costume- and the _sound_ Eddie made- god, he's not even sure how he was capable of backing away from that.

 

Now all he can think about is leaning in and pressing his lips against Eddie’s mouth. It's dark enough that he could pull him into his lap, run his hands up and down his back and rub at the sore spots he knows always bother Eddie when he gets stressed. Or, if he's feeling brave, he can run his lips over Eddie's neck, bite him softly and pull at the skin with his teeth, get him to make that sound again, and more.

 

Maybe Bev's right. Maybe he should pull his head out of his ass and really take a look at the evidence. Eddie isn't the type to lead anyone on, and if he has, there's no way he realizes what he's doing. He's just too good a person to do something like that to anyone.

 

Eddie looks at the screen, a wrinkle forming between his brows, and his voice is much quieter when he says, "I didn't thank you. For the quarry. I mean, you said so many nice things, and I was crying all over you, and I-"

 

"Don't thank me," Richie cuts him off, keeping his voice down and his head bowed slightly. "I didn't do anything."

 

"But you did," Eddie insists, leaning in and speaking close to Richie's ear. "I felt like complete shit, Rich. You have no idea."

 

Richie turns slightly, their hair brushing and their foreheads touching, just barely. "I wish I could do more."

 

"I don’t think you realize how much you already do."

 

Richie's control slips and he wraps his fingers around Eddie's hand, between them on the armrest, running his dry thumb over Eddie's knuckles as his insides writhe pleasantly. Now, he thinks, if there was ever a perfect time to go for it, it's here in this theater, where no one can see them or hurt them or call them queers or fags or anything else.

 

Richie inhales and noses closer, but his chance slips away when the doors bang open and the lip-locked couple from earlier come striding back in.

 

Eddie sits back and sighs, pulling his hand out from under Richie's as he stands, red-faced and huffy. "Bathroom," he says, and hurries away toward the slowly closing doors with a short glance back at Richie.

 

As soon as he’s out of sight Richie groans and slumps down in his seat. What the hell is he doing? It's like being around Eddie flips the stupid switch in his brain and he stops thinking entirely. He's pretty sure Eddie recoiled because of the sudden appearance of the stupid couple, but what if it was about everything else? What if he thought about everything his mom has told him, and let it get in the way of letting Richie shower him in the affection he deserves? Besides the very close-call at the quarry, he has no reason to believe Eddie might return his feelings.

 

Ten minutes go by as Richie sits there, chastising himself and attempting to follow along with the movie. At fifteen minutes Richie starts glancing back at the closed doors curiously, wondering fleetingly if Eddie ditched him. He shakes that thought away pretty fast; he _knows_ Eddie better than that, and he'd never run off on one of his friends for any reason. He checks his watch and waits, and when five more minutes have passed and Eddie still hasn't returned, he's worried enough to get up and check on him.

 

Richie heads for the doors, turning away from the screen as he pushes one side open and steps into the dimly lit hall. He checks the bathroom first and finds it empty, then wanders back and forth down the hall, thinking maybe he missed him and he's already back in the theater. With that thought he goes back to see, but Eddie isn't there, and their seats are now taken by the lip-locked couple.

 

The door leading to the alleyway is slightly ajar, the bright, green glow of the exit sign thrown off at an angle that casts a faint light in the dark space leading outside. A heaviness settles in his center as he pushes the door open fully, stepping out into the chilly air and taking a sweeping look around the alleyway. He sees Eddie to the left of him, leaning back against the dirty wall and breathing heavily, one hand covering his mouth and the other held over his stomach like a shield.

 

"Eds," Richie breathes as he goes over to him and clasps a hand on his shoulder. "What are you doing out here?"

 

Eddie looks up at him for a moment, then his gaze falls away to the ground and his voice is low and timid when he says, "Can we... can we go? I wanna go."

 

The smell of vomit reaches Richie's nose when he breathes in and he nods, barely able to see Eddie's expression in the dark. "Yeah, sure. You want me to take you home? If you're sick I can take you home."

 

Eddie shakes his head, wrapping his arms around himself as he shivers. "No, no, I don't..." his voice is shaking as he trails off and steps away, shrugging Richie's hand off him. "I don't wanna go home."

 

Richie isn't sure what to make of this sudden shift in Eddie's demeanor, but he's got a horrible feeling that something is very wrong and he's too fucking stupid to see it. "Do you want to go to my house?" He asks, and is only slightly relieved when Eddie nods and follows him out of the alleyway without another word.

 

They reach his car parked across the street, and Eddie stays quiet as Richie unlocks the passenger door first and pulls it open. He waits for Eddie to pull his feet inside before pushing it closed. Once Richie has his own door shut and the key in the ignition, he's able to see Eddie properly in the light from the street lamp shining through the windshield. There are tear tracks on his face and his clothes are disheveled; his shirt is open a little further down than before, a few buttons are missing and he's got red, scratch-like marks on his chest, three sets of four parallel lines, like fingernails. His hair looks like someone was pulling hard on it, and there's a small, red patch on the side of his neck that looks a lot like a hickey.

 

Richie's blood both burns and freezes.

 

Eddie says, "I'll pay you back for the movie," but he sounds far-off and flat, chewing on his nails as he stares out the window.

 

"No, it's fine," Richie says quickly, and he's honestly scared now. Why the fuck are there scratches on Eddie at all?  What the fuck is going on?

 

Richie heads for his neighborhood and keeps the radio off, throwing worried glances in Eddie's direction the whole way there. Eddie keeps his eyes glued out the window, one hand clutching his own knee tightly and the other covering his mouth once again. Richie puts the pieces together in his head, but he doesn't like what he comes up with, can't even _imagine_ something so violating happening to Eddie. _God_ , he hopes he's wrong, because if someone put their fucking hands on him, Richie will find them and fuck their world up.

 

When they get to his house Richie leads Eddie to his bedroom window. His house is single story and the ledge is low, and it's much easier to sneak in than dealing with his mom if she decides she's still interested in his life. Once they’re inside he shuts the window and double-checks that his bedroom door is locked, and watches Eddie as he sits down on the end of the bed silently. He's fucking terrified to ask what happened- he's never seen Eddie like this before- shaking as he stares off at nothing, his hand wringing together in his lap and his legs clenched tightly together.

 

Richie isn't sure what to do, but he has to try something. "Eddie," he says gently, standing in front of him, afraid to do anything else. "What's going on? What happened?"

 

Eddie doesn't answer right away.  Richie waits, his own hands trembling with the need to reach out and touch, to reassure Eddie that he's here and he isn't going anywhere. Eddie looks so fucking scared and distraught, and paranoid now, glancing around the bedroom and looking over his shoulder. "He, he was," Eddie starts, finally looking up at Richie, his voice quiet and shaky. "In the stall. H-He was in the stall. I was b-by the sink, and he was hiding in the stall, a-and then the door locked, and I didn't know, I, I didn't know what-"

 

Richie sits down on the opposite side of the bed, asks "Who?" Even though he's sure he already knows.

 

"Sam." Eddie inhales deeply, his bottom lip trembling as he goes on in a stuttering rush. "H-He locked the door, and I didn't- I didn't r-run, I didn't want to l-look weak. He cornered m-me in there. In the bathroom." Eddie's voice cracks as he gasps out, "He s-shoved me on the counter. I couldn't get him off, he was just- I didn't know w-what to do, and he- he k-kissed me and he grabbed me, and I, I t-tried to, to push him off, but I couldn't, and he t-tried put his hand inside my p-pants and he- he-"

 

A hitching sob chokes it's way out of him, wracking his body as he buries his face in his hands and his chest heaves with each gasping breath. Richie isn't sure if it's the right thing to do, but he wraps his arms around Eddie's shoulders and pulls him against his chest, tucking a leg on either side of him as he whispers comforting nonsense in his ear and strokes his hair. His heart shatters with every sob that leaves Eddie shaking in his arms, and he's so goddamn pissed he can't think beyond finding Sam right the fuck now and beating his face in. He's trying hard to keep his anger under control, because he knows if Sam were right here in front of him, he'd probably kill him. He's never wanted to hurt anyone so much in his life.

 

Richie reigns in all the negative feelings, shoves them to the back of his mind so he can focus entirely on being here for Eddie. He holds him tight when Eddie turns in his arms and hides his face against Richie's neck, his tears running down his chin and soaking the collar of Richie's shirt. Richie lightly drags his nails over Eddie's back, kisses his temple and his brow, his cheek and his nose, tells him he's there, that he's not going anywhere, and he'll always be here and protect him in any way he can.

 

Eddie sobs against him for a long time, so long that once he starts to breathe normally he's half-asleep and sliding sideways. Richie shakes him awake and makes him change into an old shirt and a pair of his shorts, then tells him to go to the bathroom and wash his mouth out, because he'll hate himself in the morning if he doesn't. He retrieves a pile of extra blankets from his closet to make up a bed for himself on the floor, and while he's spreading a thicker one out on the carpet, he starts to wonder if the handful of people in his life he cares about are cursed. Why is everything always happening to them? Why can't he bear the brunt of their pain for them?

 

Eddie is tucked in on the right side of the bed, and when Richie starts to settle down on his makeshift cot, his hand shoots out and closes over Richie's wrist. "No," he says, looking up at Richie with pleading eyes. He tugs on Richie's arm.

 

"What is it?" Richie asks.

 

"Here," Eddie replies, scooting over to the left side and leaving plenty of space for a second person. "Can you sleep here?"

 

"Are you sure?"

 

Eddie nods. "Please."

 

Richie can't say no, can never say no to Eddie. He switches the light off and carefully gets under the covers, taking his glasses off and keeping a safe amount of space between them as he turns on his side to face his friend. Even in the dark, the faint moonlight shining through the spaces in the blinds gives off just enough light for Richie to see the red puffiness around Eddie's eyes. He's afraid to know the extent of what Sam did to him, afraid to even ask, but he has to.

 

"Eddie?"

 

Eddie's eyes blink open and he looks at Richie sadly. "Yeah?"

 

Richie wants to throw up as he says, "Please tell me, did he, did he-" Richie swallows, gets himself together. "Did he...?"

 

Eddie shakes his head. "I think he would have, but... I got away."

 

"How?" Richie whispers.

 

"I don't know.  I... I hit him. I must have hit him hard enough."

 

Eddie starts to fall asleep not long after as Richie watches him, his eyelids drooping slowly, then fluttering open as he tries to fight his exhaustion. Eventually he drops off, snoring lightly with his hair fanned across his face and his mouth hanging open slightly. It's possibly the worst thing for Richie to think right now, but he can't help but want to stroke his hand through Eddie's hair and hold him close through the night, so Eddie will know just how loved he is.

 

In the morning Richie rolls out of bed to get ready for school, but Eddie stays wrapped up in the blankets and keeps his face buried in the pillows, mumbling sleepily that he doesn't want to go.

 

"I can ditch," Richie offers, and Eddie lifts his head to blink up at Richie drowsily. "Do you want me to stay?"

 

Eddie nods, then drops his head back down and falls back asleep. Richie holds back from clutching his own chest, overwhelmed by the great swell of affection inside him. It hits him that he's a little crazy for Eddie, and it's built up for so long that he's not surprised that the word Love is just not enough to encompass everything he feels. Or maybe it is, and he's just too young to understand it completely.  All he knows is that Love is a word too many people use freely, and he just can't throw it around as easily. But it feels right, if a little inadequate, but it might just be his warped perception of the emotion.

 

Once Eddie is awake they watch TV, play some video games, and get some breakfast when Richie is sure his parents have left for the day. Things are back to normal in his house- his mom never checked in on him, and probably didn't notice that he didn't head out the door in the morning. It's better this way, so she can't bother Eddie when he clearly doesn't want to be around anyone.

 

At some point Eddie decides he should go home and shower, so Richie drives him there, and goes inside when Eddie asks him to stick around because his mom isn't home.

 

Richie hovers in the hallway next to the spare bedroom, leaning against the wall close to the bathroom door and listening to Eddie cry under the loud spray of the water. Fuck, he fucking _hates_ Sam so much. If that motherfucker shows up at Eddie's house, or at school again, Richie will... he's not sure what he'll do, but he's angry enough to do _something_.

 

Once Eddie's out of the shower they work on his homework, and Richie patiently explains anything he doesn't understand, going over certain things several times when Eddie zones out and doesn't catch something he says. They do this until a little after two, then Mrs. K. gets home and Richie has to leave. He doesn't want to, but Eddie reminds him that his mom is still pissed about catching Richie yelling at Sam, and she'll probably kick him out anyway.

 

"I'll call you later," Eddie tells him as Richie sticks one leg out the window and sits on the ledge.

 

"Okay," Richie replies, and sighs when Eddie moves in and hugs him quickly, shoving his face against Richie's neck and breathing against his skin. "I'll come back if you want. Just, you know, let me know when."

 

That night Eddie tells him he's fine over the phone, his voice quiet but calm, so Richie stays home, strumming his guitar absently and wanting nothing more than to go to Eddie anyway and hold him through the night. 

 

: : : :

 

Friday passes by in a blur.

 

Bev demands to know what's going on in first period, whispering to Richie in the back of the classroom that Eddie looked awful in the morning, like Richie doesn't already know that. He doesn't tell her anything, and has to endure a round of questioning from Stan next that goes on straight through till lunch.

 

Eddie is quiet as he tears his sandwich apart, picking at his crackers and keeping his head down. Stan and Mike exchange worried looks, glancing at Richie with raised brows as Bev tries to get Eddie to talk about what movies they should watch on Halloween. Richie doesn't want to lie to them, hates feeling like he's keeping shit from them, but it's not his place to tell them anything. They don't even know about Sam's handsy tutoring sessions, and Richie isn't going to disrespect Eddie's privacy by blabbing about everything to them now.

 

At the end of the day when Richie has Eddie alone in the car, driving him home, he says, "I think you should tell them."

 

Eddie doesn't reply for a few minutes, looking out the window with a blank expression. "Yeah," he agrees, but he doesn't sound too sure.

 

"They're worried," Richie tells him, braking at a stop sign and waiting for a woman to cross in front of the car, clutching a little boy's hand down at her side. "If it was one of them, I would wanna know."

 

"Okay."  Eddie shifts around uneasily.  "Tonight, then. We can... meet up somewhere."

 

They go to Mike's house in the evening and stand out by the fenced-off area Mike and Stan built for strays. Stan and Mike feed an old, black mutt with white socks, and a rambunctious brown Labrador that takes to Richie instantly.

 

"We found them by the Standpipe," Mike explains, petting the Lab as he noses at his fingers. "I wish I could bring them in when it gets colder, but my grandpa won't let them in the house."

 

"I'll take this girl," Bev says, sitting in the grass with her legs crossed and the mutt sniffing her hair. "My aunt loves dogs. She'd probably take both."

 

Richie watches as Eddie sits down next to Bev and pats the top of the mutt's head, scratching her floppy ears and smiling when the mutt turns her attention to him and starts to smell his ear. Richie sits down next, then Stan and Mike, and suddenly Eddie is telling them all everything Sam has done. His voice trembles when he talks about the tutoring sessions, and the staring and the touching and the note, and _more_ notes, which Richie didn't even know about. The mutt plops down beside Eddie and rests her head on his thigh as he gets choked up, and he goes on while stroking her belly.

 

After, everyone is quiet, and Bev is the first to move. She wraps an arm around Eddie's waist and combs her fingers through his hair, and Richie turns away when he hears her say, "I understand. It's okay," low in Eddie's ear.

 

Richie can tell Stan wants to say something, but Eddie gets up and wanders away, and that ends the conversation. Mike is livid, turning to Richie and demanding to know where the hell Sam lives.

 

"Like I fucking know."  Richie watches Eddie hover near the edge of the fence, his arms wrapped around himself.  "You think I'd be here if I knew?" 

 

The tension sticks around for most of the evening, only breaking when the Lab (who Richie starts calling Dr. Frank-N-Furter) steals Richie's pack of cigarettes and runs off with them. Richie chases him around, tripping over his untied laces and crashing to the ground several times. It makes Eddie laugh, so Richie doesn't really care that his jeans are all dirty and he's covered in slobber from Dr. Frank-N-Furter licking his face every time he skids in the grass.

 

He doesn’t want to leave Eddie’s side that night when he drops him off at home, but Eddie assures him that he’ll be fine and tells him to stop worrying.  Richie reminds Eddie to call him if he needs anything- _anything_ \- and drives away reluctantly.

 

: : : :

 

On Saturday the Losers all hang out at the library while Eddie works a longer shift, doing homework and cramming in extra studying for the SAT retakes. Stan works on an admission essay for a school in New York, and Mike keeps an eye out every time Eddie passes by, pushing cart after cart filled with books.

 

As Eddie goes by for the third time, Stan waits until he's out of earshot, then nudges Richie's elbow and says, "We can't ignore this, you know."

 

Richie doesn't want to talk about this right now, just wants to enjoy watching Eddie stand on tip-toe to reach the higher shelves. "I know. What are we supposed to do?"

 

Stan goes back to his essay for a few moments, but Richie knows he isn't finished. "Report it to the police," he says after a short silence, and Bev rolls her eyes across the table.

 

"They're not gonna do anything," she says, tapping her pencil on her open text-book and glancing around for Eddie. "They don't give a shit when it's a girl, and I doubt they'll even listen because Eddie's a guy."

 

Mike says, "We can try to do the right thing, but," he shares a long look with Bev, then goes on to say, "Eddie has to decide what to do. Not us."

 

Eddie joins them an hour or so later and tells them that he's been let off early.

 

"Hey, we can get started on our marthon!" Bev exclaims, and Richie admires her ability to plaster on a genuine looking smile when needed.

 

"You guys wanna go eat first?" Eddie asks, and Richie's eyes are drawn to the faded mark on his throat, peeking out from under the collar of a green, buttoned-up shirt. "I'm ready to eat my arm, honestly."

 

Mike laughs and Stan makes a face, and they pack up their things to get going. There's hardly anyone inside the library today, probably because of Halloween, and the parties that undoubtedly went on all through Friday night. Mrs. Starrett waves to them as they pass by the front desk, and reminds Eddie that he's staying later on Monday.

 

Richie hangs back behind the others, tugging Eddie's sleeve gently and catching his attention. "Hey, uh, how are you feeling?"

 

Eddie looks at him and shrugs. There are dark circles under his eyes again, and his jaw looks a little more pronounced than it did before. "Fine," he answers, catching the door behind Bev before it can close. "Just tired."

 

Richie knows it's bullshit, and he should call him on it, but he doesn't.  "I'm here, you know.  If you want to get away from everything. I mean, maybe we can all go somewhere instead of having movie night."

 

Outside on the front steps Eddie pauses, nodding with the hint of a smile on his lips. "Yeah, that sounds nice."

 

Bev, Mike and Stan are waiting at the bottom of the steps, and as Richie starts down with Eddie behind him, he hears the sound of the heavy doors opening and glances back.

 

Sam steps out of the library, his eyes fixed on Eddie as he moves toward him, hand outstretched an reaching for him. Where the fuck did he come from? The anger he felt before rushes through him in an instant and he has to stop himself from jumping at the bastard.

 

"Eddie, hi," Sam is saying to him, and Richie hates him so fucking much, wants to hit him so fucking bad, but Eddie looks back at him meaningfully.  _Don't you dare,_ he says with his eyes, and Richie takes a not-so-calming breath.

 

Mike is there beside him, reaching to pull Eddie back behind them. "Get the hell out of here," he says to Sam, his voice low and threatening.

 

Sam just looks at Mike, then says to Eddie, "I'd like to speak to you. Privately."

 

"That's not gonna happen," Bev says, pushing her way between Richie and Mike to get to Eddie.  She glares hard at Sam. " Come on, Eddie. Let's go. "

 

"I'm not _speaking_ to any of you," Sam says with a forced calm, looking between Mike, Bev and Richie. "I'm _speaking_ to Eddie."

 

"Like hell you are," Richie says, raising his voice and standing up to his full height. "Stay the fuck away from him."

 

"Guys, stop," Eddie says suddenly, and they all turn to look at him. He's facing Sam, his chin raised slightly, and even though he looks confident Richie can see the crack in his facade in the slight tremble of his lower lip. "Go. I'll be right there."

 

"No," Richie says, and he has to stop himself from stepping between Eddie and Sam. "No fucking way, Eds. Fuck this guy, you don't owe him-"

 

" _Richie_ ," Eddie cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument.  His eyes are determined. "It's _fine_.  Go- I’ll be right there."

 

Richie shakes his head.  “Are you kidding? After what he did to you? I’m not leaving you alone with him.”

 

“Just _go_ , Rich.”

 

“Fuck no.”

 

Stan steps up beside Richie, leaning in to say low by his ear, “Come on. It’ll be fine. We’re all here.”

 

He doesn’t want to listen to them, but Stan and Mike tug him down the steps, setting off toward the street where Richie’s car is parked at the curb beside a rack full of locked bikes. He's doesn’t hear anything Mike and Stan and Bev are saying to him and each other. All he can focus on is Eddie, standing on the steps with his fists clenched at his sides, shaking his head and responding to something Sam is saying to him.

 

The image of Eddie crying and shaking in his arms springs forward from the back of his mind, and Richie bites the inside of his mouth to stay silent. He never wants to see Eddie like that again, can't fathom anything worse happening; he can't handle the possibility, how easily Sam was able to catch him off guard, how little effort it must have taken him to overpower Eddie and put his hands on him, and-

 

_No_. No, he can't let his mind dive off in that direction. He's already pissed- if he gets any angrier, he's going to do something stupid.

 

Richie sees Eddie recoil from Sam, then start quickly down the stairs, shaking his head as he hurries toward them. Sam follows him, his voice carrying over to them, but he can't quite hear whatever bullshit he's spouting.

 

They all move forward as Eddie approaches them, and he looks genuinely disgusted, like he's going to be sick, as he says "Let's go," stepping between them to lead the way to Richie's car. “I’m not- no, I'm not doing this. Let’s go.”

 

Sam comes closer as they all turn to follow Eddie, and his voice is low and calm and emotionless as he says, "Don’t be afraid, Eddie."  His eyes are fixated on Eddie, unblinking. “When I’ve got you spread out on your back beneath me, I’ll make sure to be very _gentle_ with you.”

 

Eddie looks horrified, frozen in place by Sam's words, and Richie recalls again how hard Eddie trembled against him after what Sam did, how he cried until he could barely breathe, how he clung to Richie's shirt and sobbed against Richie's throat, violated and broken and terrified and in so much pain.

 

Richie’s hands tremble and white-hot anger runs through him and- he’s _never_ felt rage like this before. He’s never wanted to hurt anyone so bad, never wanted to just come out and _attack._ The thin band restraining his control breaks; he rushes at Sam and brings his fist back, then slams it hard into the mother fucker’s eye. His knuckles burst with sharp pain as Sam’s head snaps back and he falls right into the bike rack with a crash. 

 

Mike and Stan grab Richie's arms, restraining him as Sam pushes himself up. Sam grins when he removes his shattered glasses and tosses them aside; the broken lenses have cut up his brow and under eye, but the demented fucker doesn’t seem to notice.

 

“ _FUCK YOU you son of a bitch_!” Richie shouts, kicking out and pulling against Stan and Mike's grip on his elbows.  He wants to hit Sam again, punch him over and over until his nose is a red fountain and his head lolls, unsupported. “Don’t you _EVER_ come near him again, you- you piece of _fucking shit_!” His legs are shaking, his insides are burning, and he _wants_ to hurt Sam more than he’s ever wanted to hurt anyone before. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

 

Sam is chuckling, swiping at the blood dripping down his face. “What’s the matter, Richie?” he says, smirking.  “Are you mad because _I_ got my hands on him first?”

 

Richie’s face flushes with pure rage. “SHUT UP! Shut the _fuck_ up!”

 

“Don't worry, kid,” Sam goes on, and he licks his lips with a hungry leer in Eddie’s direction. “I don’t need him forever. You can have what’s left when I’m done with him.”

 

Richie lunges for him, knocking his elbow into Stan’s jaw as he breaks through Mike’s arms tight around his arm. He swings out at Sam again- his fist connects with Sam’s jaw as his leg gets caught up in the spokes of a fallen bike.  “Stay the FUCK away from him!” Richie screams, stumbling as Mike grabs hold of him again and pulls him back. “Don't you ever fucking come near him!  Don’t you look at him! Don’t even _think_ about it-”

 

Sam’s fist cracks against Richie’s cheekbone, but he barely feels it, fighting his way out of Mike’s arms just as Stan manages to get his own arms around Richie's waist and holding him back. 

 

“Richie, stop!” Bev shouts from somewhere behind him, but he doesn’t listen- doesn't fucking care.

 

Sam is laughing, actually fucking _laughing_ as he starts to stride away. Looking back at Eddie, he says to him, in a mocking tone, "I'll see you very soon, _my love_."

 

Richie fights to get at him again, swearing and using his longer limbs to try and slip out of Stan's hold. "Fucking LET GO!'   

 

Stan and Mike drag him back towards the car, and it takes both their strength to hold him against the side as Bev digs the car keys out from his pocket and unlocks the doors.  Mike uses his shoulder to shove him into the backseat, and Stan climbs in on the other side, trapping Richie between them.  Bev gets into the driver's seat and Eddie sits shotgun, staring back at Richie with wide, worried eyes. 

 

Richie cradles his swollen hand against his chest as Bev turns the wheel and flips the car around, speeding off and away from the library.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to tell me if I have offended you so I can apologize, or if I have not used sufficient tags and/or warnings. 
> 
> Also- I have been playing with an idea for a fic to write after I'm done with this one. It's The Losers Club as Monster Fighters/Hunters (Basically they will be Team Free Will/The Scooby Gang). They will work in Derry and in the surrounding areas and towns. It wouldn't be a crossover, but it would have a similar feel to Supernatural or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And they would be older, like either about to go off to college or between twenty one and twenty six. It's stuck in my head and I really want to write it!


	4. Just What I Needed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Thank you once again for all the feedback! It really helps me get motivated to write. I love hearing what you guys think.  
> I bet a bunch of you are stressing with midterms/finals- well, good luck! I hope you all do well! And I hope you get some time to relax when it's all over!  
> So I know that Maine in winter is basically hell, so I have created in my head an odd period of time when things were a bit warmer than they usually are. Kinda like how it is now, but back then, for my fic. I do not want to deal with the snow if I can avoid it. I'm from California, so what I know about dealing with the snow is basically nothing.  
> Also, another warning is necessary. It's not as bad as before, but it can be triggering. Please proceed with caution.  
> There is something good coming in the next chapter! Just so you guys know there is a light at the end of the tunnel for these boys ;)

The drive to Bev's house is anthing but quiet.  

 

Stan starts things off with, "Holy shit- you could've  _killed_  him."  He's staring at Richie with wide-eyed surprise, exchanging an apprehensive look with Mike.  

 

Mike is next, his voice at a higher pitch than usual.  "I think you broke his face."  

 

 "Guys, he's  _bleeding_ ," Bev says, glancing back at Richie. "Stan, can you look at that?"  

 

 "Oh my god," Stan exclaims, sitting up straight and reaching over to take Richie's hand.  "It's broken, it's- it's turning _purple_."  

 

Mike rolls his eyes.  "It's not broken."  

 

 " _Look at it_!"  

 

 "It's gonna be bruised, but..."  Mike does the same, trying to take a closer look at Richie's cut-up knuckles.  "It'll be fine, just gotta clean it up."  

 

Eddie watches from the front seat, turned around with his mouth hanging open slightly and his fingers clutching the seatbelt across his lap.  Richie's knee is bouncing up and down, his jaw is clenched tight, and his lips are pressed together in a thin line.  He looks so  _angry_ , and it's all Eddie's fault.  If he could handle his own shit, then nobody would have to step in for him, and nobody would get hurt because of  _him._  

 

Stan is trying to get Richie to let him look at his cuts, but Richie snatches his hand away, keeping it close to his chest as he says, shakily, "I'm gonna kill him."  

 

Eddie turns back around, staring out the windshield as he thinks of things he should have done differently- maybe even since the beginning of this shit with Sam. Stan is murmuring something that makes Richie scoff and snap, "I don't fucking care!"  Eddie doesn't catch what Stan says, but Richie stays quietly agitated, huffing and fidgeting all the way to Bev's house.   

 

Bev leads them inside and her aunt doesn't ask any questions; she points Richie in the direction of the bathroom toward the back of the house, and Eddie follows him with his head down, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the Losers.  Richie sits on the toilet seat and Eddie shuts the door, not bothering with the lock.  There are first aid supplies under the sink and Eddie crowds the counter top with everything he can find, then silently reaches out and takes Richie's hand.   

 

He's expecting Richie to pull away, but he doesn't.  Eddie gets to work, dabbing  a cotton ball soaked in peroxide over the bloody cuts and wincing in sympathy when Richie hisses.  The light overhead is bright, giving the blood a striking hue against Richie's pale skin; it's bright and deep in color, and, looking closer, Eddie spots little bits of shattered glass littered in the dried parts.  Eddie wants to apologize, but how is he supposed to say it?    Richie has put up with so much of his crap- crap he really doesn't have to deal with at all.  And now he's hurt and bleeding and it's entirely Eddie's fault   

 

The silence is broken by Richie.  "Eddie, I'm... I'm sorry." 

 

 Eddie is taken aback.  "Why?  You didn't do anything."  

 

 "I acted like a fucking Neanderthal."  

 

 Eddie wipes the last of the blood away, then unscrews the cap off a small tube of antibiotic cream and squeezes a small amount on his finger.  He starts to apply the cream to the worst cut over Richie's center knuckle as he says, "He deserved it.  I would have hit him for myself, but," Eddie shrugs one shoulder and chokes back the sudden emotion fighting it's way up his throat.  "I uh, I don't like fights and, you know, confrontations, but this is different."  

 

 "So you're not pissed at me?"  

 

 Eddie shakes his head, then dips down when he spots a dark, red stain on Richie's jeans, over his shin.  "I think you have something here- does this hurt?"  Richie rolls the hem of his jeans up close to his knee; there's a short gash, and Eddie sighs as he gets a few cotton balls and sits on his heels, then starts to wipe away the blood and dirt.   

 

 "You don't have to do that," Richie says, his good hand squeezing his kneecap.  "Unless you  _want_ to play nurse, you know, then I don't mind."  He lifts a single brow and smiles.  "The medical world needs more cute nurses." 

 

 Eddie rolls his eyes, his ears hot. "I see your big mouth hasn't suffered any lasting damage."  

 

 "Yes, it has.  My mouth is  _very_   damaged."  Richie laughs when Eddie glares up at him, unamused.  "Make it better?"  

 

 "NO." Eddie keeps his head down as his face burns.  "Will you- can you stop?"  

 

 "Never."  

 

 "Why do I put up with you?"  

 

 "Cause I'm hot."  

 

 "That's not the reason."  

 

 "You didn't say I'm not, though."  

 

 "You're not hot.  You're an animal."  

 

 "I'm a hot cave man beating down perverts everywhere."  

 

 Eddie snorts and stands when he's done, then washes his hands while fighting a smile.  "You're a moron." 

 

 "I feel very unappreciated."  

 

 "Liar."  

 

 "Seriously.  My efforts have gone unrecognized long enough."  

 

 Eddie dries his hands off and turns to Richie, leaning his hip against the counter.  "Rich, you  _know_ I'm grateful."  He spots a bruise forming over Richie's cheekbone, right where Sam punched him, and it makes him unexpectedly furious.  As strange as it is, he hates Sam more for hurting Richie than he does for what happened at the theater.  Richie doesn't have to be involved, but he keeps putting himself between Eddie and everything else that's out to get him- and how, exactly, is Eddie supposed to sit back and keep his feelings bottled up when Richie does all these things for him no one else would ever do?  Every day it feels like he's falling farther down, terrified of being consumed by everything he feels whenever he looks at Richie, or whenever Richie touches him or smiles at him a certain way.  "I suck at saying it, you know, but I... I don't know what I'd do without you."  He takes a step closer and lifts his hand, hesitating a moment before he slides his palm over Richie's cheek, his thumb moving over the darkening bruise hidden slightly by his glasses.  

 

Richie looks up at him, his mouth open slightly, and he leans into Eddie's touch, his eyes falling closed.  "You'd be fine," he says, voice rough and low.   

 

 "Doubt it," Eddie breathes out, and swallows thickly when Richie brings his good hand up and places it over Eddie's, his fingertips fitting in the small spaces between his own.   Eddie holds back a gasp when Richie noses into his hand and presses a kiss against his palm, mouth open and breath hot as he drags his lips across surprisingly sensitive skin.  "Rich.."  

 

 There's a timid knock on the door and Richie moves away, and Eddie tries to remember how to breathe normally as Stan opens the door slowly, peeking in before stepping inside.  His eyes move from Eddie, to Richie, then back again, curious.  "Everything okay?" 

 

 "Everything is fucking wonderful, Stanley," Richie says, and Eddie has to look away from the long, searching look Richie is giving him.   

 

 After Richie is all cleaned up and in a much better mood, the Losers sit together in Bev's room, watching "Who's the Boss" reruns and sharing two large bowls of popcorn and chips.  Bev spreads out over the bed and refuses to move for anyone but Eddie, even when Richie sits on her back and farts, she shoves him off and waves a hand in the air, gagging dramatically.  Mike rolls over laughing on the floor, and Eddie sits cross-legged on the edge of the bed, facing the TV and smiling when Richie plops down on the carpet in front of him.   

 

They watch a movie next and Eddie sinks into his own thoughts, which he attempts to steer away from everything having to do with Sam.  He's had nightmares all night, every night, and in each one he isn't able to get away, in the bathroom, shoved on the counter as Sam gets on top of him and holds his face still and kisses him and tears his shirt open- 

 

He grips the fabric of his jeans and forces the memory away.   

 

Richie puts his head back, his crazy hair spilling over Eddie's legs, and Eddie has the strong, undeniable longing to sneak his fingers in the dark, beautiful mess of waves.  It's a strange urge, one he's pretty sure Richie would allow; he can't deny he's wondered how it feels, if it's soft, or dry and tangled, if it's thin or thick like his own.  He decides to be brave- why the hell not?  His life is basically going to hell, he might as well help it along.  

 

Eddie slowly sneaks his fingers into the mess along the crown, just the tips at first, until Richie sighs and his shoulders relax and his head falls back a little more, welcoming his touch.  Then, Eddie sinks into it, gently scratching his nails over Richie's scalp, dragging his fingers through the strands and detangling sections that fall apart easily.  It's not soft, but it's not rough or scratchy, and he quietly enjoys the little sounds of content Richie is making, keeping a careful grip on his self-control, so that he doesn't do something terrifying, like tug Richie's head back and dive in, press their lips together regardless if their friends are there or not.   

 

 "Feels nice, Eds," Richie mumbles, tilting his head back further until he can look right up at Eddie, his glasses a little crooked on his nose. 

 

Flushing, Eddie glances at the Losers and is relieved to see that Bev is the only one to notice.  He's not in the mood to be teased- he just wants to enjoy this for as long as he can, until he's forced to face reality again.  He turns away from her and continues on, not surprised when some time later, he discovers that Richie is asleep.   

 

Eddie doesn't move for a long while, until Richie wakes up and it's dark out and he's sure his mom is losing her mind waiting for him to get home.   

 

The next day, Halloween, is uneventful.  The Losers get together and hang out at the quarry, sitting around the old Bel Air while Richie and Bev smoke and Mike steals Richie's guitar, singing "You've Got To Hide Your Love Away" as he strums the chords and Bev hums along.  Stan brings his admission essay and sits quietly, while Eddie pretends he's not shooting him side looks, surprised by Stan's easy demeanor.  Even with everything that has happened with Sam, he's been worried about Stan, concerned that he might slip into that bad place again and, like before, he wouldn't know what was happening until it was almost too late.  But Stan seems okay.  Concentrated and a little stressed about his essay, but okay.   

 

At one point, when they're all singing as Mike plays "Norwegian Wood", Stan unexpectedly thanks them all at the end of the song.    

 

"I've been feeling... off, again," Stan admits, looking at each one of them before he goes on.  "But you've all been here and, well, I realized I don't need to feel so alone."  He pauses for a moment.  "Don't any of you laugh, but I love you morons."  They all stay silent, and Stan smirks, says, "Most of the time," and they all laugh, sharing smiles with one another.   

 

The day slips away to night and when they all part ways, Eddie can't help but think that with everything they do for each other, everything he does for the other Losers, it's just not  _enough_ , and personally, he needs to do more.  Give more.  

 

But, on the other hand, it's better than nothing, and he's doing the best he can.   

 

: : : : 

 

It's a small miracle, but Eddie's mother seems to have given up on trying to force him to do much of anything.   

 

On Monday he does his chores around the house after school and she doesn't ask him to do anything else.  He's not lazy, he'll do whatever she asks within reason, but it's strange that she doesn't even greet him home on Tuesday, or call him down to dinner, or pester him when he tells her he's going to be gone most of the day Saturday for the concert in Vermont.  It's sort of... freeing, to be able to do whatever he wants.  A little weird- but freeing.   

 

"Maybe she's finally backing off,"  Mike tells him in fourth period when he shares his concerns with him.  "Could be a good thing.  Graduation seems far, but it's really not.  She might be realizing that you don't plan to stick around." 

 

Eddie really wants to believe him, but when he gets home on Wednesday, red-faced and in a whirl from Richie's constant jokes and  _flirting,_ his mom tells him to sit down at the kitchen table and get all his homework out.  He's about to ask her why, shrugging his backpack off and settling down in his favorite spot, but then there's a knock on the front door and she hurries to get it, and when she pulls it open, Eddie's stomach drops in a sudden rush and his chest gets tight and feels constricted, and he feels so incredibly stupid for thinking for even a second that she had given up on trying to run his life for him.   

 

Sam steps into his house, welcomed by his mother, lead through the entryway and ushered into the kitchen.  He hears her fussing over his face- Eddie looks up at him, satisfied to see that his eye is dark and scabbed in certain spots, the bruise purple and blue and awful- but well deserved.   

 

"Hello, Eddie."   

 

Eddie ignores him, crossing his arms and turning away to face the wall; if he can't avoid his mom, he can at least ignore Sam.  He doesn't  _have_ to be around him whether his mom likes it or not.   

 

It's completely silent for a moment, then his mom says, "Eddie, why are you being so rude? Say hello to Sam."   

 

Facing the wall, Eddie doesn't move, keeping his head turned away, clenching his jaw and chewing on the inside of his mouth.  It's almost childish, but his mom just doesn't understand.  She'll probably  _never_  understand.  He's not going to bother telling her about what happened at the theater.  There's just no point- she'll either ignore it, or try to turn it around on him.   

 

"It's fine, Mrs. K," Sam says, simply, as if he's done nothing wrong.  As though he didn't put his hands on Eddie in her house, or force himself on him at the movie theater, or even try to get him alone in front of his friends, just so he can say more dirty, disgusting things to him in the subtle way he does.  "Senior year is _really_ stressful.  Makes you act like a  _completely_ different person."   

 

"He's been a  _nightmare_!"   

 

Eddie keeps looking away from them, but he's surprised by his mom's words.  Is he really that terrible?  All he wants is to be left alone- is that too much to ask?  He doesn't think so, but apparently he's a "spoiled, selfish child" (his mom tells Sam) and maybe he needs a "Responsible, strong example" (Sam tells her, clearly meaning himself), and it really shouldn't, but it hurts to hear her opinion, and for her to act like he isn't even  _there._  

 

She leaves the kitchen and Sam sits down right next to him.  "What are you struggling with?"  Sam asks him, and Eddie can feel him staring,  _thinking_ things that he knows will make his stomach turn.   

 

"I don't need help from  _you_ ," Eddie sneers, scooting his chair away a few inches.   

 

Sam sighs. "Eddie, we can make this easy."  He reaches over Eddie and takes his backpack, unzipping it to remove his school things from the large pocket.  Eddie watches him out of the corner of his eye.  "Or, if you don't want to cooperate, we can sit here all day.  And I'll stay for dinner.  And, because your mom likes me so much, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if we went up to your room once it gets too late to sit up down here."  

 

There's a bubble of anger growing inside him, one that has been rising in his chest ever since Sam first laid a hand on him and claimed it was an accident.  If he lets it out he's not sure what he'll do; hit Sam, scream at him, run away, leave his house and never come back- maybe something else.  Whatever he does, he knows there will be consequences, and he's not sure he can handle it.  Tears sting Eddie's eyes, and he has to resist wiping them away.  He's not going to clue Sam in to his current state of mind.  He has to be calm, strong, or risk looking weak and fragile again, like all the other times Sam has touched him.    

 

"So," Sam says quietly, scooting closer and trapping Eddie between his chair and the wall; Eddie keeps his eyes down on the table, his shoulders tense and his fists clenched painfully.  "What's it gonna be?"   

 

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" Eddie says, and he considers decking him, he even starts to calculate how to angle his body to get the most leverage- but he misses Sam's hand sneaking under the table, until it's dipping between his legs, fingers brushing over him and he jolts, standing up so fast he knocks his chair backwards and it hits the floor with a loud thud.   

 

Eddie doesn't wait around to see Sam's reaction or hear what his mom has to say about him- he leaves his things there and hurries up the stairs, slamming and locking his bedroom door and leaning back against it, choking on his own breath as he shuts his eyes tight and tells himself not to cry.  Do  _not_ fucking cry.   

 

There's a knock on his door and he jumps, looking around the room for something- he's not sure what for, but the instinct to defend himself has reared it's head.  It's his mom, he's sure of it, and the second he opens the door she'll demand that he go back downstairs, and have some manners, and take the help she's paying for because he's just too damn  _stupid_ to do anything on his own.   

 

There's no way he's sticking around; Eddie goes to his window and throws it open, then climbs out legs first and descends the tree, much faster than he ever has before.  He slips on the last limb and falls a short way, scraping his elbow in the dirt and shivering from the cold breeze that's beginning to settle in as the afternoon winds down.  Getting his bike doesn't even cross his mind- he just  _runs_.  He runs down the street and turns the corner, headed in the general direction of Richie's house, but then he changes his mind; he doesn't want to bother him any more than he already has, it's just not  _fair._ Stan lives the closest to him, so he turns down another street and cuts across a shopping lot, straight through a couple more neighborhoods.  He's on Stan's street by the time he decides it's safe to slow down.  It hasn't even occured to him how stupid running is- Sam has a  _car-_ and if he decided to chase Eddie, well, Eddie wouldn't get very far.   

 

There's a lattice leading up to Stan's window, and he grabs on once he's standing at the bottom.  He could knock on the front door, Stan's parents like him, but he doesn't want to look at anyone else besides his friends right now.  Honestly, he  _wants_ to go to Richie.  There's nothing more comforting than Richie's arms around him, holding him as he whispers soothing things in his ear and allows Eddie to cry until he can't anymore.  So he hoists himself up and ascends the lattice, pricking his fingers a few times on the roses that are starting to welt and weave through the slats, and he reaches out and slaps a hand on the glass before he's even able to look inside.   

 

Stan is quick to shove the window up and let him in.  "Hey, what's going on?" Stan asks as Eddie slips on the ledge.  "You okay?"   

 

Eddie straightens up once he's completely inside and shakes his head.  "I'm sorry, Stan, I don't mean to just show up, but I- I can't be at home right now."   

 

"What happened?"  Stan asks, leading him over to the bed and making him sit down.  "Is it your mom?"  The door opens up across the room and Eddie's heart skips as Richie comes inside, his smile falling when he catches sight of Eddie and how hard he's breathing- no,  _gasping-_ for air.   

 

"Eds?"  Richie moves across the room, sitting down on Eddie's other side.  "What are you doing here?"   

 

"He just got here," Stan says, and puts his arm over Eddie's shoulders.  "Tell us what happened."   

 

Eddie hesitates; he doesn't want to burden them anymore with his problems, especially Richie.  "Sorry, Stan.  I... I didn't know Richie was here.  I wouldn't have come if I knew you guys were hanging out."   

 

Stan waves his words away.  "We were just sitting here talking.  Richie's boring me, anyway.  Thank god you showed up."   

 

"The fuck you mean I'm boring you?" Richie retorts, and he sidles up closer to Eddie.   

 

Eddie gets up and goes over to the window- he shouldn't have come.  Maybe Stan needed someone to talk to, and of course he'd call Richie.  They're closer after last year, even though they don't always spend a lot of time together.  Stan may have been feeling down and dark again, and here comes Eddie, so self-centered and obtuse that he can't see past his own problems to his friend's needs.   

 

"You're not leaving,"  Stan tells him, bringing him back to the bed and making him sit down again.  "And no, you're not selfish.  You're going through some tough shit.  I'm here for you, too."   

 

Well- Eddie's pretty embarrassed.  He must have said most everything out loud without realizing.  "I don't want to be a bother," he hears himself say, and fuck he sounds so damn pathetic he can't understand how they can even look at him.   

 

Richie gets it out of him.  Of course he does.  Eddie tells them what happened with Sam, but he leaves out how Sam tried to touch him again- he's pretty sure  _that_ isn't necessary.  It's obvious they know he's omitted something, though, judging by the look they exchange.  Eddie sits on his hands as he talks, an effort to keep himself from reaching out to get closer to Richie.  It's a little scary how much he feels like he  _needs_ Richie's comfort right now.  What would he do if he never had it to begin with?   

 

"I think you need cookies," Stan says when Eddie's finished, getting up to leave the room.  "And hot chocolate.  Yeah, hot chocolate is good.  You probably haven't had any in a while."   

 

It's an abrupt exit, but once Eddie is alone with Richie, he feels like he can give in a little bit.  Richie's arm goes around him, settling against his lower back and pulling him closer, and Eddie feels his body relax into the touch, just barely resisting the desire to tuck his face against Richie's neck and inhale the soft scent of soap and smoke.   

 

Richie's bruised knuckles come into view, and Eddie sighs when Richie gently pushes his hair back, away from his face.  "What else happened?"  Richie asks him, and Eddie keeps his lips shut tight, because he's pretty sure if Richie knows, there will be another fight and Richie will end up in it  _again._  

 

"Nothing," Eddie says, looking away from Richie's eyes to keep himself from spilling.  "I just couldn't stay there.  I didn't want to."   

 

"You know I don't believe you."   

 

"Can you drop it, please?" 

 

Richie fiddles with his glasses, shaking his head.  "If he touched you again, I'm fucking killing him."   

 

"God dammit, Richie."  Eddie inches away from him, trying to stay calm but his voice goes higher as he says, "Let it go." 

 

Stan comes back then, bringing the promised cookies and hot chocolate, and Eddie digs in, even though he's not really in the mood for anything.  Richie backs off, sitting on the other side of the bed while Stan tells them that he called Bev and Mike and they are going to meet them out at the quarry so they can all talk about everything that's happened so far involving Sam.  They get moving after that, getting into Richie's car, which Eddie didn't notice parked out in front of the house when he was focused on getting to Stan's window.  It takes no time to get there, and Mike's truck is already parked on the side road, so they get out and follow Stan down one of the paths worn in by the teen foot traffic.   

 

They sit on the ground by the Bel Air in a circle, and Eddie stays quiet as Stan starts to discuss  _options_.  "If we go to the police, we can file reports and everything will be on record," he says, and he's got a spiral bound notebook perched in his lap and a pen jotting down notes in his neat, incredily even scrawl.  "It will make getting a restraining order easier."   

 

"It's not going to do anything," Bev counters, Mike nodding along.  "The cops do  _not_ care.  Especially these shitty, Derry police.  They don't even  bother to respond to domestic violence calls."   

 

"But records and reports are  _proof_ ," Stan says, sounding arrogant, the way he does when he thinks he's right.  "Other states are starting to put laws into place to protect people from stalkers.  Didn't you hear about that one case in Pennsylvania-?" 

 

"And how do we stop him  _now_?   _Before_ he gets another chance to do something to Eddie?  NOT after."   

 

"I don't want to say this," Mike interjects, looking between Stan and Bev.  "But we might have to go about this the old-school way."   

 

"What?  Beat him up?"  Stan says, sitting up straight and raising his brows at Mike.  "That's not going to do anything.  Richie already got him pretty good, and he  _still_ showed up at Eddie's house."   

 

Mike shrugs.  "I have guns.  We can scare him off."   

 

Eddie sits there, hugging his knees to his chest, and wondering how the hell his life has turned into this.  All he wanted was to get his grades up, graduate and move on from Derry and never look back- and now?  How the hell is he supposed to do that?  What is he supposed to do?   _How_ is he supposed to get Sam to leave him alone?  There's no future worth living he can imagine with the threat of Sam finding him and getting his hands on him.   

 

He catches Richie's eyes and holds them; and Richie-  _god,_ how can he ever go on and deal with this without Richie?  They'll graduate and Richie will leave and Eddie will be stuck ther and then who will be there when he needs someone to run to?  Who can possibly take Richie's place in his life?  There's no one else- he doesn't even  _want_ anyone else to try and fill the hole that will be left behind.     

 

Bev and Stan are raising their voices, and Mike is trying to play the middle man, getting them to settle down as they discuss Eddie's life like he isn't  _right there_ , like he doesn't get a say, because  _obviously_ he's too damn stupid to make his own decisions.  If he was smart, he would have spotted all the signs that would have tipped him off that Sam was going to turn into such a nightmare in his life.  Or maybe he's been so wrapped up in his feelings for Richie, in his thoughts and dreams and desires for Richie, and Sam just slipped under his detection while he was too busy looking away, watching Richie and calling after Richie and  _fuck-_ why is he so fucking  _stupid?_  

 

He's not sure how much time goes by, but he tunes out his friends until they start to get up and dust themselves off.  He barely hears Bev as she hugs him and says something about another discussion tomorrow after school, after they've all had time to think a little harder- something like that.  He doesn't really care what they all came up with.  There's no way out of this, anyway.   

 

Stan leaves with Mike and Bev, and Eddie gets up off the ground, suddenly and unexplainably  _mad_.  They are his friends, and he loves them, undoubtedly, but how can they sit there and pretend like he actually  _has_ any options?  It's an outright  _lie._  Whatever opinions they have, whatever suggestions or ideas- it's all  _wrong_ , and useless, and unhelpful.   

 

Richie is still there- of course he is- and he approaches Eddie with his disarmingly sweet smile and equally gentle voice, saying, "Do you want to go home?  You can stay at my house, if you want to."  It's the way he always talks to Eddie, with a deeper, softer tone, so unlike the way he talks to the other Losers that always catches him off-guard and gets him to open up.  Richie's been getting under his skin for years, slowly and steadily, sinking into Eddie's heart in a way he knows he'll never be able to shake off, and he'll  _never_ be able to get over.   

 

Eddie says, "Why do  _you_ care?" in a biting, cold voice that sounds terrible to his own ears.  "It doesn't even matter."   

 

"What doesn't matter?"   

 

"Everything.  Me.  This whole  _fucking_ situation!"  Eddie's temper flares and he turns away, close enough to the car so that he can reach out and ground himself if needed.  

 

"What the fuck do you mean you don't matter?"  Richie comes a little closer, close enough that Eddie can feel him standing directly behind him.  "Why would you say that?"   

 

"Because it's  _true_."  Eddie scrubs his palms down his face, inhaling deeply.  "What the hell am I supposed to do?  There's no... there's no getting out of this.   _How_ do I get out of this?"   

 

"That's what we're trying to figure out."   

 

"What is there to  _figure out?_!"  Eddie shrieks, and Richie sounds so reasonable, and kind, and Eddie has absolutely no reason to blow up on him, but he can't stop himself as he whirls around with a scowl, his pulse pumping hard and his voice going panicky and frantic.  "Let's figure out how I'm going to- to  _avoid_ getting raped in a bathroom or, you know,  _at my house_ , since my fucking  _MOTHER_  can't see past her own damn bullshit to protect ME, her SON!  Or let's figure out how, exactly, I'm supposed to feel safe  _at all,_ because I don't!  I don't feel safe  _anywhere._ "   

 

"Eds, we're trying, there's gotta be something-"  

 

"Something I can do, right?!  Because there's  _NOTHING I CAN DO!_ "  A sob chokes up Eddie's throat and he growls, angry with himself and his own  inability to do  _anything_ on his own- like he's a fucking  _child_ again.  He can't even shout for five seconds without cying like a pansy ass piece of trash.  "I can't go to the police.  I thought about it, you know, before anyone said anything, but- but you know what?  Bev's right.  They're just gonna act like it's nothing to worry about."  He feels his chest start to ache and he just- he's just done with this bullshit.  "But they don't- they don't know.  They don't  _know_  what's going on or how it feels or- or- or-"  He turns away again, because _fuck_ he's so damn tired of breaking down in front of Richie, and he feels it coming on, stronger than he's felt it building for a while now.  "They don't know what he did to me.  No one knows what he did..."   

 

Richie's arms wrap around him, and he almost lets it happen, almost allows Richie to comfort him once again- but he remembers himself at the last moment and pulls away.  He doesn't want to be a fucking bother or burden anymore, because that's all he is and all he'll ever be, so long as he has this hanging over his head.   

 

He ignores the way Richie looks hurt as he says, "Tell me what to do, Eddie.  Please.  I'll... I'll do  _anything_ you want me to do."   

 

Richie's words pierce him deep, but he doesn't let that show.  "This, you know, it has to be my fault.  It  _is_ my fault." 

 

"What do you mean?"  Richie asks, his soft voice replaced by something sad and horrible.  

 

Eddie chuckles humorlessly.  "I mean, I must have done  _something_ to make him want me.  Or, you know, maybe I did something to make him think I want  _him_.  Why else would he target me like this?  What did I do?"   

 

Richie shakes his head, frowning.  "No, no Eds, that's not how it works.  This guy is a fucking piece of shit  _pervert_ , and, for some reason we're never gonna know, he's picked you to prey on.  But that has  _nothing_ to do with you."   

 

"How can you know that?"   

 

Richie groans, running his hands over his hair, exasperated.  "Because people are just sick fucks!  It doesn't matter what you think you did, because he's a sick, fucking bastard, and that's all there is to it."   

 

"That can't be it!"   

 

"What else can it be?"   

 

Eddie clenches his fists and wants to hit something.  "Maybe there's something wrong with me!"   

 

"Like what?"  Richie asks in disbelief.  "Why are you trying to blame yourself for this?"  

 

"Because I'm a fuck-up, and I screw up everything!"   

 

"You're not a fuck-up!  This isn't your fault!"   

 

"I am.   _I am-_ and it- it is, somehow.  It's my fault."   

 

Breathing hard, Eddie tries to pull himself together in the silence.  Richie isn't saying anything, so Eddie closes his eyes and lets his tears fall quietly- he can't help but cry out the ache inside him.  There's a long, lonely, fearful future stretching out before him, one where he can never feel safe or free, one where he'll always be looking over his shoulder, because Sam might be there.  He doesn't even see how he can leave Derry and get away.  Somehow, he knows it, Sam would find him.  And what kind of sad, pitiful existence is that?  It's no life.  It's not even worth living...  

 

Desperately, without thinking, Eddie says,  "I should just kill myself.  Then he- he can't hurt me.  I don't have a future, anyway.  And, and even if I did, I'll  _never_ be happy.  Not with  _this_ always following me and I just- I'd be better off."   

 

Richie isn't saying anything, so Eddie turns to look at him and- Richie's staring at him, horrified, his eyes wide and his bottom lip trembling, his fingers curling as they reach out for Eddie, but he looks scared to try and touch him, scared to grab for him, and Eddie doesn't understand why Richie is looking at him that way.   

 

"Don't say that," Richie says finally, and his voice is hoarse, frail, and his eyes are shining with unshed tears.  "Do NOT say that.  Eddie, don't- don't you dare fucking say  _anything_ like that."   

 

"It's the truth."   

 

"No, no, no, no- it's  _not."_  

 

"What do  _you_ know?  I have  _nothing._ I have  _no one_."   

 

Richie reaches out and grabs his upper arms, firm but not painful, and pulls him close.  "You have  _us._ Don't fucking say shit like that!  You can't just say that when you're upset!"   

 

Eddie shoves him away.  "I'm  _not_  just saying it!  It's true!"  And, shit- it really is.  He can't believe how deep this pain runs- and, even though he didn't mean it at first, now it's sounding like a real solution.  "I don't want to feel  _anything_  anymore!"   

 

"Stop, stop,  _please_ stop saying that."  Richie's palms come up and touch him, cupping the sides of his neck as he leans forward, and Eddie goes with the movement, falling back to lean against the old car, allowing Richie's warm, familar form to press againts him.  "Eds, please,  _please_ don't say that."   

 

He can't help it- he's selfish and  _wanting,_ so he lets Richie get closer, lets Richie rest their foreheads together, hair tangling and brows touching, and Eddie inhales Richie's breath.  It's warm and damp, and Eddie almost loses himself when his hands find Richie's waist and grip his shirt, dragging him even closer.  Eddie swallows and licks his lips, hypnotized by Richie's heavy breathing, and Richie's hooded eyes, and how, once again, Richie is close enough to move in and change  _everything._ He's almost got whiplash from the drastic turn his emotions have taken, and he  _knows_ he should pull away, because Richie is moving in, again, like at the quarry, and the theater, and it's even closer now.  Eddie's mouth is open partially, and Richie's is, too, and- their lips could brush if Eddie moved just a little more, or if Richie would dip just a little lower, but there's a hesistance there that Eddie can feel, not just in himself, but in the tension all through Richie's hands and shoulders.   

 

It's so hard to turn away, but he does, and he releases Richie's shirt from between his fingers as he steps to the side.  Richie doesn't let go, so Eddie brings his hands up and physically pulls Richie off of him.  "No, no, stop," he says, moving far enough away to clear his head.  "Leave me alone.  I don't... I want to be left alone."   

 

Eddie starts to walk away, and only gets as far as the start of the path before he stops and turns around; Richie is on the ground, his back against the fender, and he's got his face hidden in his arms, resting on his knees, and his shoulders are shaking with- oh  _fuck-_ Richie's  _crying._ He can't fucking cry, he can't do this- Richie doesn't cry-  _ever._ Eddie's seen him in tears exactly two times over the years, and both times were when they were younger, and Richie was in physical pain, so bad that Eddie would have been shocked if he hadn't been crying.   

 

It hits him, like a fucking train, what he said so easily, how he overlooked Richie's haunted look, and even  _shoved_ him away, and- why is he such a piece of shit?  Eddie turns back and goes to him, dropping to his knees in the dirt and pulling Richie to him, and Richie clings to him- his long arms wrap around Eddie's waist, he buries his face against Eddie's throat, and Eddie holds him.   

 

"I'm sorry, Rich," Eddie cries, running his hands through Richie's hair, as soothingly as he can.  "I'm so fucking sorry.  I didn't mean it- I didn't mean to talk like that.  I'm so- I'm so sorry."  The dark, dangerous thoughts running through Eddie's head are gone, and he feels so fucking ignorant for voicing them, for taking something so traumatizing to Richie and treating it like  _nothing._ And Stan- god, what if he had said something like that in front of Stan?   

 

Eddie holds Richie for a long while, and refuses to move when his legs fall asleep and his arms start to get sore.  He's not even sure what time they finally get up and leave, but it's dark and cold, and Richie is quiet on the way to his house.  They sneak inside through Richie's window, and it should be awkward, but Eddie doesn't feel that way at all.  Instead of setting up a space on the floor, like he used to, when they were kids and sleepovers were frequent, Eddie is pulled into the bed by Richie, and though they sleep with a little less than a foot of space between them, it feels like they are curled up together, like they  _should_ be wrapped around each other.   

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 After the night at the quarry, it's like some kind of unseen, unspoken barrier has been broken down between them.     

 

Richie is a little embarrassed, even the next day, when he wakes up with his hand clutching Eddie's shirt, like he was desperate to pull him closer in the middle of the night, but some lingering doubt in his subconscious kept him from doing anything more.  He's not one for crying- not that there's anything wrong with it- it's just not  _him._ Yeah, he can get pretty emotional, just like anyone else, but the people who can bring that out in him are far and few in between, and the last time he let himself breakdown at all was last year, a month or so after finding Stan.  He curled up in his bed and let some of the pressure off the volcano brewing just under his skin, weeping like a little kid into his pillow, keeping as quiet as possible so his mom and dad wouldn't hear him.  He's not sure what his dad would say, but his mom probably wouldn't have cared.   

 

Crying in front of Eddie was entirely different.  He's a little surprised Eddie held him for as long as he did, when he could have left at any time.  But Eddie is a good person- he'd never leave anyone out to be alone, or in pain, not when he can do someting about it.   The whole ordeal makes Richie fall a little more in love with him, and he just can't help himself around him even more than he couldn't before.   

 

Later that day, Thursday, between second and third period, he heads off after class quickly to catch Eddie at his locker, where he usually is at this time, chatting with Stan and exchanging his things for his next class.  Richie's mind is on the concert coming up on Saturday, and how much time he's going to have alone with Eddie, and he means to ask Eddie what time they should get going, and if he has a newer map they can use, since his is covered in melted jolly ranchers from a pack he left in his glove compartment all summer.  But when he spots Eddie, nodding happily and smiling, talking quickly with Stan, his mind goes off in another direction and he doesn't remember what he was going to talk to him about.  He saw Eddie earlier- slept next to him, woke up next to him, watched him sleep for a good ten or fifteen minutes until he was pushing it time-wise and had to start getting ready for school- but it doesn't seem to matter that it's only been a couple hours.   

 

Richie goes to him, quietly approaching him from behind, and he grabs Eddie around the waist, lifting him off his feet and spinning him in a circle.  Eddie yelps and swats at him, chastising Richie and demanding to be put down, but Richie just keeps smiling, because while Eddie always looks adorable when he's irritated, he can see the grin attempting to fight through the scowl Eddie seems determined to keep, and he  _knows_ Eddie isn't pissed at him for being a complete moron.  Stan rolls his eyes before he walks away, but Richie doesn't care, and doesn't follow him right away to their next class.  He lingers with Eddie, and it's like the fucking clouds part and someone switches out the black and white screen to full color for the rest of the day.   

 

After school Eddie tells him he has to go to the library, and that he'll be getting off later, because apparently, since he's trained to shut down at the end of the day, he needs to fill in for Mrs. Starrett, who is gone for the next week for a family emergency in Manhatten.   

 

"I'll probably be off around nine, or a little later," Eddie tells him, one foot out of the car.  "So, uh, if you mind, I can walk home.  But, if you don't..."  

 

"I'll be here at nine,"  Richie cuts him off, and his insides flutter at the relieved and grateful smile Eddie gives him.   

 

Closing down is  _boring_ ; there's paperwork, files to be checked, old books to be stored away in the creepy basement, ruined books to be dealt with, but Eddie handles everything quickly and efficiently.  Richie gets him home a little before ten, and has enough time to mess around on his guitar when he gets home before getting into bed.  He plays some chords, plucking out a five note melody that comes to him as he lays back against the headboard and envisions Eddie's shy smile, and his big, innocent eyes, his tempting, soft-looking mouth, and his warm, comfortable embrace.   

 

When he gets in to bed and turns over on his stomach, sprawling out across the mattress, he wonders if there will ever be a chance for him to ask Eddie about the tape.  He  _knows_ it's selfish, and it's the last thing Eddie needs to be worried about at a time like this, but he's got to bring it up at some point...right?  He just wants to know if Eddie even liked it, even if he didn't understand what Richie was trying to tell him.    

 

Friday drags on, and Richie keeps impatiently watching the clock.  All day he's fidgety through his classes, thinking of the concert and how much fun it's going to be, and all the time he's going to have to spend with Eddie all alone.  Since Eddie has to close again, the Losers study at the library instead, and after they all leave a little before eight, Richie sticks around until the doors are locked and Eddie is getting things together to shut everything down.  It goes by faster than it did the night before, and it's barely nine thirty when he's pulling up to the Kaspbrak house and putting the car in park.  

 

Eddie turns to him with the same shy smile that always gets Richie's heart thumping.  "What time do you want to pick me up tomorrow?"  He asks as he pulls his backpack up on his lap from the floor.   

 

Richie shrugs.  "One or two, I guess.  How long does it take to get out there?"   

 

"About five hours," Eddie replies, his brows raised.  "I think we should get there early, so we don't have to stand in line too long, and we can get dinner before, too."   

 

"Yeah, sure, I'll come earlier then."   

 

Eddie nods, then says, "I want to look at motels, too.  I don't want to end up in one that's got cockroaches."   

 

Richie keeps his expression as neutral as he can, though he feels his eyes widen slightly.  "Motels?" he asks, and his insides twist nervously when Eddie nods.   

 

"It's a long drive,"  Eddie explains, shrugging one shoulder.  "I don't think it's safe to try and make it back here right after." 

 

It's a completely reasonable explanation, but Richie's a dirty, perverted, seventeen year old guy, and it's no surprise to him that his mind dives right off the cliff of innocence into the deep, consuming waters of lust.  He manages to keep his pushy thoughts back from the forefront of his mind on his way home, but once he's in his room, in bed, with the lights off and covers half over his body, there's no stopping the visions that spring forward and attack.  As much as he cares about Eddie _, wants_  Eddie,  _needs_  Eddie, he always feels a little bad when he imagines doing anything sexual to him, and vice versa.  Eddie is just so innocent and clueless, but he can't deny that that's part of the allure, and the source of some of his racier thoughts.   

 

Sprawling out on his stomach, Richie tries to clear his head to go to sleep, but he keeps thinking about Eddie in the motel room, sitting on a generic bed, looking up at Richie with wide, wanting eyes, falling back into the pillows as Richie crawls over him.  Eddie in his mind doesn't say anything- just reaches up and touches his hair, curling his fingers into the strands as he pulls Richie down and kisses him deeply, mouth open and wet and hot and incredible.   

 

It takes Richie too long to get to sleep, and when he wakes up in the morning, he's fucking exhausted and wishes he can close his eyes again and fall back in to his dream world.  Unfortunately, it's almost ten, so he pushes himself to get his lazy ass up and he starts to get ready.  He showers, throws a bunch of shit into his backpack as an overnight bag, and tells himself to stop freaking out, because it's not going to be any different from when they stay the night at one another's houses.  The only difference is they will be completely alone.  With no interruptions.  And no excuses.   

 

Richie wants to smack himself for being so damn nervous.   

 

Eddie is waiting on the front steps when he pulls up ten minutes early, and he gets into the car with a bright smile, wearing a hooded, black sweater and dark jeans.  Richie pointedly doesn't let his eyes linger on Eddie's clothes, even though he kind of wants to scream, because Eddie is wearing dark things again, and he looked so damn good last time he did, and  _how_ is he supposed to get through this day without making a complete fucking dumbass of himself?   

 

They leave Derry behind, and the farther they get away from the shitty little town, the better Richie starts to feel.  He can tell that Eddie feels the same way, with how much he keeps smiling and talking, coming up with all kinds of road trip games to play, challenging Richie to read and guess what personalized license plates mean, and singing loud and unashamed to anything he knows the words to- even Metallica, who Eddie always swears up and down he can't stand.  A few hours pass by this way and they stop for gas, get some snacks, and head back on the road and turn up the music.  

 

Eddie is amazing at directions; they don't get lost at all, even when it starts to rain pretty hard as they're entering Vermont and Richie has a little trouble seeing out the window.  They make it to Essex Junction around five, with a couple hours to spare before the concert, and so they follow Eddie's plan to get food, drive by a few motels, and get their asses to the arena so they can get in line.   

 

It's fucking cold, but the rain lets up when they're stuffed full of fastfood and searching for a parking space in the crowded lot outside of the arena.  Richie manages to find one pretty quickly, and they get out of the car and start to head in, walking by all kinds of people who are already drunk, high, or both.  It's a little annoying; Richie can see Eddie wrinkling his nose at a girl who won't stop shouting about how hot the lead singer is, and how she's going to fuck his brains out if she gets her hands on him, and honestly, of all the things he hears on their way inside, it's probably the tamest.   

 

When they get through the long line, Eddie tugs on Richie's sleeve as they head inside the open, double doors leading to the ground floor.  "How crowded do you think it's really gonna be in there?"  He asks, and Richie can tell he's about to start panicking.  Eddie keeps looking around, his eyes darting between all the people around nervously, and he's clinging to Richie like a life-line.   

 

"It's gonna be pretty crowded," he tells him, and Eddie sighs and tightens his grip in Richie's shirt.  "But we can stay toward the back.  It's not going to be like a full-on, crazy, dangerous mosh.  These guys aren't like hardcore, long hair, headbanging rockers."   

 

Richie is relieved when he's right.  They hover toward the rear of the crowd, and Richie keeps Eddie as close as possible, shooting glares at other people as they drunkenly stumble around, singing like crazy people once the music starts.  It's extremely irritating at first, and Richie ignores it, trying to convince Eddie to start dancing as "Give It Away" starts up and everyone begins jumping around and moving as much as their drunken stumbling allows.   

 

"No way!" Eddie shouts over the music, but Richie grabs his hands and leads, bobbing his head and flinging his hair around.  It's so fucking awesome, the lights flashing and the music so loud his ears feel like they're going to be ringing for hours afterwards.  Some girl screams beside them, and Eddie shrieks when she lifts her shirt up over her head, flashing her bare tits toward the stage and sloshing a cup of beer all over herself.   

 

Richie can't stop laughing, and he thinks Eddie is going to throw in the towel and leave judging by the look on his face- but then another guy starts shouting, and he's older- like forty or fifty- and he spills beer all over himself, too, but doesn't seem to give a shit.  He lifts his arms in the air and wolf-whistles, and Eddie starts cracking up, moving in really close and snorting near Richie's ear.   

 

Eddie lets loose after that, and Richie is completely mesmerized watching him.  He's supposed to be enjoying the band- and he is- but it's much more satisfying to keep his eyes on Eddie, who is jumping around, his hair bouncing as he moves his head and his hips and  _fuck_ \- Richie's hands find Eddie's waist and he hangs on, sweating as their eyes stay locked together under the dark lighting above them.  There's nothing sexual about the way Eddie is dancing, but fuck _,_ everything Eddie is doing is somehow the hottest thing Richie has ever seen.  As "I Could Have Lied" starts, Eddie sways in place to the mellow beat, his hands moving up and resting over Richie's biceps, and it's almost like they're slow dancing, even though there's so much space between them.  It's the most fun Richie's had in so long, but it goes by so fast, and before he realizes it, the last song is over, the spell is broken, and they're crowding out of the arena, trailing behind the large mass of people in front of them.   

 

All the way to the car Eddie talks excitedly, going on about how cool the whole thing was, how great their music really is, and wondering why he's never gone to concerts for all the other bands he likes.  His face is flushed and beaded with sweat, and Richie has a hard time concentrating on driving when they pull out of the packed parking lot and head in the direction of one of the motels they drove by earlier in the day.  It's just on the outskirts of town, and when they pull in to the parking lot Richie notes there are no other vehicles around- a relief- he does not want to deal with loud, irritating morons right now.   Eddie says that he's got it, even though Richie pulls a twenty out of his pocket and tries to give it to him; the stubborn little shit hops out of the car and waves his hand dismissively, and he heads inside to go check them in. 

 

Richie starts to sweat again as he waits.  Eddie comes back out with the key and directs them toward a room near the end of the row.  The doors are brown and worn, and the whole place could use a paint job and some TLC, but the inside isn't so bad.  Richie follows Eddie inside, sighing as the warmth envelops him and the lingering scent of smoke tickles his nose.  Richie goes to set his backpack down on the bed, then sits down and- wait-  _bed_?  

 

"One bed?"  He asks aloud, and he winces at the crack in his voice as Eddie turns toward him from where he's unzipping his backpack on the left side of the bed- BED,  _one_ bed. 

 

"It was cheaper," Eddie explains, pulling out a pile of neatly folded clothes and his shower things.  "It's not like we've never slept in the same bed before."   

 

"Y-Yeah.  Right."  Richie can't do this- he  _cannot_ do this at all, not even a little bit.  Abort, abort,  _abort_.  "You're uh- you're right."   

 

Eddie gives him a curious glance, then says he feels disgusting and takes first shot at the shower.  Richie is fine with it, and throws himself down across the bed dramatically when the bathroom door shuts and he's alone with his thoughts.  It doesn't mean anything- Eddie's right, it is cheaper this way- and there's no reason for him to lie or try to hide any motives.  Besides, Eddie is so damn shy and innocent that even if he wanted to plan something (which, come on, he  _never_ would), he would definitely not be able to go through with it.   

 

Richie's fingers itch for a cigarette, so he turns on the TV and spends a few minutes searching until he finds Saturday Night Live to entertain himself and keep his mind occupied.  It works a little bit, and by the time Eddie is finished and exiting the bathroom, Richie is somewhat relaxed and sprawled out on the right side.  The bed dips as Eddie sits down, and Richie's eyes are drawn to him; Eddie is wearing a white t-shirt and comfortable looking sweats, his skin is pink from the hot water, and a few droplets reflect in the dim light in the room as they run down over his neck.  It pulls Richie in, and he has to do  _something_ to keep himself from being a complete fucking moron and making some kind of move; so he grabs one of the pillows and makes a wide swing, catching Eddie right in the chest with a thump and smiling mischievously.   

 

Eddie shoots a glare at him, punches him in the arm, and Richie grabs his head and holds it under his armpit; Eddie gags, and then they're full-on wrestling.  Richie is restless and twitchy, and this outlet is possibly the best kind he can get at the moment, even though it's been a couple years at least since they've all-out rolled around together like this, pinning each other down and pulling no punches to get the upper hand.  And Eddie- Richie sometimes forgets- is a hell of a lot stronger than him, and won't shy away from digging his elbows into Richie's ribs or getting him in a chokehold from behind- which he does now.  Richie is laughing breathlessly as Eddie growls and fits the inside of his elbow under his chin, using all his weight to climb on Richie's back and take him down.  They almost fall off the bed, but Richie catches them by placing his foot on the floor and rolling backward, getting Eddie off him.  Eddie gets one last move in, pinching Richie's thigh through his jeans before Richie takes advantage of his larger frame to pin him down on his back.   

 

There are bright, red spots of color on Eddie's face, and his eyes are alight with some emotion Richie can't decipher.  Richie holds his upper body up on his elbows, planted on either side of Eddie's head, and he fits their hips together to keep him down.  Their laughter tapers off as their eyes lock together, and Richie forgets why he thought it was a good idea to get so physical on a bed, in a fucking motel room, when they are  _completely_ alone.  The steadiness of his pulse trips up as he stares down at Eddie, his hips shifting a bit to adjust and maybe put a little space between them- but fucking  _Eddie_ \- he opens up a little more, his thighs inching outward and giving Richie enough room to get closer between them.  It's warm, and scary, and Richie doesn't mean to press himself against Eddie, but he does, and Eddie's breath hitches and his eyes grow a little wider, the brown color darkening noticably.   

 

Richie needs to get off him right  _now_.  He's so close to grinding down slow and hard, to show Eddie how fucking bad he wants him, and Eddie's mouth is like a magnet to his eyes- he can't stop looking at his lips, open slightly and inviting, soft-looking and lush and they probably even  _taste_  amazing.  He swallows thickly, licking his dry lips and tracking how Eddie's gaze follows the movement; if Richie didn't have so many doubts and reasons to believe Eddie can never return his feelings, he would go for it now.  He's probably crazy, and only seeing what he  _wants_ to see, but it's so damn difficult to not get his hopes up when Eddie's breathing turns shallow and he doesn't break eye contact.  There's an instinct telling him to just do it, to just lean in and kiss Eddie with everything he's got, and he fucking  _wants_  to, more than he's  _ever_  wanted to before.  Eddie's hands come up between them, rising and hovering close to Richie's neck, then his fingers slide into Richie's hair, curling gently in the strands and he tugs gently.   Richie inhales sharply, and Eddie is  _guiding_  him down, the space between them growing smaller, and Richie is going to fucking  _die_ if he doesn't get to finally find out what Eddie tastes like, sounds like,  _feels_ like-  

 

Eddie's eyes slide closed, and Richie's almost there when there's a fucking loud, obnoxious  _knocking_ on the fucking  _door_ that shatters the moment to pieces.   

 

It's so fucking difficult to make himself move, but Richie does, rolling off and away to get up and open the door and fucking  _punch_  whoever is on the other side.  It's an older guy with long, gray hair and a dirty-looking beard, and he reeks of weed and booze as he apologizes for disturbing them, mumbling something about the wrong room and needing to find his friends, and something about a horse running through the parking lot- the guy is fucking baked.  Richie shuts the door and sighs, dropping his forehead against it for a moment, willing his body and  _feelings_ to settle the fuck down and let him hang on to a shred of his dignity.     

 

Without looking at Eddie, Richie snatches his backpack off the bed and flees to the bathroom, locking the door behind him and immediatly turning on the water.  He stands there for a few moments, letting the steam from the heat slowly form and fill the space around him, and he contemplates whether or not it's worth going back out there and trying to fall asleep beside Eddie, when he can just throw some blankets down in the tub and stay in here all night.  It'd spare him the shame for a while, at least, but he knows there's no point in delaying the embarrassment.  He'll still be in love with Eddie, still want him, still long for him, and still fuck up and do stupid shit and end up in a similar position, where he ends up close to giving in to the flooding rush of his feelings.   

 

He showers and dresses quickly and exits the bathroom, not surprised to find Eddie still wide awake and watching what's left of the Saturday night comedy line-up.  Richie avoids looking at him, going to the right side of the bed and sitting close the edge, barely daring to breathe as he cautiously pulls the covers back and slides in.  It's warm under the blankets, and Richie turns on his side to face the door, his back to Eddie, and he doesn't say a word, tense and waiting for Eddie to break the silence.   

 

Shutting his eyes, Richie tries to get comfortable, even though he knows he's not going to be able to sleep well if he's trying to avoid making any kind of contact with Eddie.  He likes to stretch out on his stomach, with one arm hanging off the bed and the other tucked under his pillow, but there's no way in hell he's doing that now.  His ears strain to listen to every little sound Eddie makes, from the amused little huffs to the sniffles that signal that he's probably getting sick.  There's no reason he should be feeling so guilty and awkward- Eddie has to know he was giving Richie all the signals to go ahead- but even so, it's terrifying to think that they came so close once again, and Richie is so gone on this boy that he would have willingly plunged ahead and ruined their friendship.  Because if they kiss, Richie knows he'll never be able to go back to being only friends, not if things go on and develop into something deeper.   

 

Somehow, through all his circling thoughts, he drifts off and falls into a fitful sleep, turning over several times through the night, kicking the covers off and then pulling them back on when the chill in the room becomes too much.  He's vaguely aware of Eddie sighing and adjusting each time, and at one point he turns over the opposite way, his arms reaching out across the empty space and finding the solid mass of Eddie's back; Richie's half-conscious, but he's finally able to fall asleep this way.   

 

In the morning when Richie opens his eyes, he immediately knows he's fucked up  _again_ , when the blurred image of Eddie's hair comes into view in front of him and he feels the warm puff of breath against his neck.   It takes him a few minutes to make sense of the body he's got an arm wrapped around, and the soft scent of shampoo his nose is buried in, and when it clicks, he opens his eyes and squints down, moving his head back a bit to see Eddie better.   

 

Richie carefully retrieves his glasses from the bedside table, sliding them on and smiling as everything sharpens into focus.  Eddie is still asleep, mouth open slightly, snoring into Richie's chest with his hand curled over Richie's side, and beneath the covers, Richie's leg is tucked between Eddie's.  It's so intimate, and comfortable, and it  _feels_ right in a way that's indescribably terrifying.  There's just no way he's ever going to find another person who makes him feel this way- Richie's never even had strong crushes on anyone else, let alone  _wanted_ anyone else.  Only Eddie.   

 

Eddie stirs, his eyes blinking open, and Richie resists swooping down and kissing him awake, even though it seems like it's the perfect thing to do.  Brown eyes peer up at him, open and unguarded, full of fondness that's always so well hidden when anyone else is around.  It's this look that confuses him so much.  Asking outright is the best thing to do, but there's no way he's doing that; if Eddie rejects him, he's not sure how to go on and pretend he never even tried.  

 

The room is warm and quiet and so, so peaceful, but as soon as Eddie is fully awake, he tenses and tries to sit up, throwing everything off as he attempts to roll away.  "I'm sorry," he says, moving slowly.  "I didn't mean to- to do that."  His face is turning redder and redder, and Richie tightens his grip around Eddie's waist, pulling him back down against him.   

 

"It's fine," he says, voice lower than usual.  "I uh... it's nice.  I like it."   

 

Eddie looks at him dubiously, his legs withdrawing.  "But I- really?"  His eyes search Richie's, his arms moving back as he cautiously slides down on the bed.   

 

Richie nods, even though he should probably deny it and let Eddie get off him.  "Yeah.  It's comfortable." 

 

Still looking uncertain, Eddie carefully places his head back where it was, but it's obvious he's fighting the instinct to flee.  "Okay..." 

 

They stay that way a few minutes, and Richie is relieved when he feels Eddie start to relax, and just like the idiot that he is, he grins, opening his big, stupid mouth, and says, "Guess I'm just that irresistible, huh?  Gotta get at me when I'm sleeping."   

 

Eddie rolls his eyes and moves away, climbing off the bed and grabbing his backpack off the floor.  "Oh my god-  _no_.  You're not.  At all."   

 

Richie pouts, extending his arms out in Eddie's direction.  "But Eds- it's so  _cold_.  Come back and snuggle with me."   

 

" _No._ Turn up the heater."   

 

"But I don't  _want_ that.  I wanna snuggle."   

 

"I don't care."  

 

"You're so heartless." 

 

They get dressed and get their things together, moving around each other, and Richie catches Eddie giving him a shy smile every time he looks up and finds him staring.  They brush their teeth- Eddie hogging the whole sink until Richie puts his hands on Eddie's hips and moves him over to the left, giving himself plenty of room, and making Eddie blush when his touch lingers.  It's almost nine by the time they are heading out to the car and ready to go, and Richie waits as Eddie runs up to the front desk to turn in the key.   

 

"Let's do something," Eddie says as he gets into the car and pulls his seatbelt on.  "I'm not ready to go back yet."   

 

Richie nods, understanding.  He wants to extend their limited amount of time as much as possible.  "Anything in mind?"   

 

Eddie frowns, thinking, then suggests, "Portland?  Let's go to the lighthouse."  

 

It's cold, but not as cold as it usually is for November, so they won't freeze their asses off.  Richie nods, then lets his foot off the brake and drives.   

 

It takes about four, maybe five hours, and the drive there is much more calm than the drive to Vermont.  They talk about TV shows, movies, and get into a long discussion about The Terminator and just how realistic the plot is.  Eddie thinks it's all bullshit, of course, and Richie laughs at how irritated Eddie gets when discussing the ridiculousness of the entire idea.  They move on to Risky Business, and argue about the relevance of the "train scene" when Richie puts in a cassette that just happens to have "In the Air Tonight" as the first song.  It's almost two when they finally get into Portland, and it doesn't take much longer to drive through the city to head south.  Eddie directs them over the Casco Bay Bridge, which is slow going due to construction set up, limiting traffic to one-lane going both ways.   

 

It starts to drizzle as they park and get out of the car in a nearly empty lot, surrounded by grass and lined with a path that leads to the lighthouse.  There are a few other people around, snapping pictures of one another and leaning against the railing, which doesn't look completely safe. If it gives, there's no way Richie is jumping in after anyone but Eddie, and it's a damn good thing Eddie isn't that stupid.   

 

Richie pulls his jacket closer around his body, and he watches as Eddie does the same with his hooded sweater, folding his arms and peering out at the halo of light cast over the water.  The sun is barely visible from behind a thick cluster of clouds, but the warm glow that manages to break through the small gaps throws the colors of Eddie's dark hair into a contrasting mix of varying shades of brown, and Richie physically has to keep his hands in his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching.   

 

They don't stick around the lighthouse for long, falling victim to growling stomachs and waning energy.  They drive back the way they came, until Eddie points out a string of shops to the right, including a small, barely noticeable food joint that turns out to be really damn good.  Richie stuffs his face enthusiastically, snorting when Eddie shoots him a disgusted look from across the booth that makes him choke and cough.  He tosses  a fry that lands in Eddie's hair and makes him gag, laughing as Eddie slaps a hand over his head, tryingt to brush it out.  They don't stick around there long, drawn to the other little shops around, wandering through one that has blazers displayed in the window in neon colors, and another that sells scented oils that give Eddie a headache. There's a music one that sells nothing but records, and Richie teases him when Eddie excitedly purchases a few Queen ones he digs out from behind a stack of mixed artists.  Eddie doesn't even own a record player, but Richie plans to get him one when he gets a chance.   

 

The last one they check out sells corded jewelry and accessories and will customize a wristband for a small price.  The corded jewelry actually looks pretty cool, in many different colors and styles, with shells and jewels and beads in all sorts of different designs.  Eddie wanders away to look at some keychains near the back of the store, and Richie gets the guy behind the counter to make him a black, thickly corded wristband with  _Eds_  spelled out on red and white beads.  The cords are pre-made, and so the whole thing goes quickly enough that Eddie doesn't notice while he buys a handful of interesting looking keychains, which he tells Richie are for Stan, Bev and Mike.   

 

Eddie still isn't ready to go home, so they head down to Kettle Cove, huddling together in the small parking lot as a cold wind picks up, and Richie pulls a couple blankets and an old boombox out of the trunk.  The sun is low, just over the horizon, finally showing itself entirely the closer it gets to setting, and Richie loves how the warmth of the light gives Eddie's skin a lovely glow.  They spread the thick blankets out over the sand beside a rocky section close to the water, then settle down close together, and Richie sets up the boombox with a random mix that starts off with "Love Will Tear Us Apart".  Eddie hums along, settling back on his elbows, and Richie lies down with his arms tucked behind his head, closing his eyes and enjoying the quiet.  The air smells of salt and moisture, and the faint scent Eddie gives off tickles his nose, and it's so peaceful and relaxing that Richie almost dozes off several times.   

 

They get up and walk around, avoiding the few people who are doing the same, keeping to themselves as they get as close to the water as possible, picking up stones and tossing them into the waves.  Richie watches Eddie collect a few strangely colored rocks, tucking them into his pocket after cleaning them off, sniffling and hugging himself as it starts to get darker and colder.  They find a new spot with an outcropping of rocks to block the wind, and they set their things down again.  It's a little after seven; they'll have to take off soon if they want to get back to Derry at a decent time.  If they didn't have school the next day, Richie would be more than happy to stay and just bum around on the beach with Eddie, maybe get another motel room, gather his balls together and make something finally happen.   

 

Eddie is shivering, but when Richie tells him they should head back, he still doesn't want to go.  "A little longer," he says, his elbows crossed and resting on his bent knees, chin propped up on his arms.  "I just... I'm enjoying this.  Just us.  Away from everything."   

 

Richie understands all too well.  "Okay.  I just don't want you to be too tired at school tomorrow."   

 

"I'll be fine," Eddie insists, pulling his knees closer to his chest.  He's quiet for a few minutes, a contemplative frown etched between his brows, and Richie starts wondering what's on his mind when Eddie asks, "Are you  _really_  leaving after graduation?"   

 

Richie is surprised; he wasn't expecting Eddie to bring up something that feels so far away.  "Um, yeah.  That's the plan."   

 

Eddie gives him a doubtful look.  "To California?   _Really?_ "   

 

Richie nods.  "Why?  You don't approve of my wild dreams?"   

 

"I didn't say that," Eddie says, sighing and hugging his knees tighter.  "It's just that, you know, you say a lot of stuff.  I guess I was just, I don't know, kinda hoping it's not true."   

 

"You..."  Richie's fingers pinch the band inside his pocket, thumbing the beads as he turns to look at Eddie.  "You're leaving, too."   

 

"I  _want_ to, but I don't know where to go."   

 

"I thought you wanted to go to New York."   

 

Eddie shrugs.  "Maybe.  It's just one place, though.  If I can even graduate..." 

 

"Why do you say, if?"  Richie asks, adjusting himself to better face him. 

 

Eddie sighs and looks away, out toward the water, watching the waves slam into the rocks and the sand.  "I don't know.  It's just... I don't really care anymore.  About school.  I don't know what I want to do, but I'm supposed to know, right?  Like, you want to be a comedian, and Stan likes numbers.  Bev is great at sewing clothes and fashion and that stuff.  And Mike loves animals and the farm, but... what the hell do I do?  I don't know how to do anything."   

 

Richie keeps his hands to himself, resisting the need to physically comfort Eddie.  "You do, Eds.  So what if you don't know yet?  You go to school for a few years, fuck around in some classes that seem interesting, and then something will reach out to you.  You're great at a lot of things."   

 

"Like what?"   

 

"Listening," Richie answers immediately, ticking the list off on his fingers as he goes on.  "Giving advice, navigating, talking to people, helping people, running, logic and patterns, memorizing, fixing stuff."   

 

Turning back to Richie, Eddie rearranges himself to sit cross-legged as he says, "I guess so, but what am I supposed to do in the mean time?  Stay in Derry?  Go to school nearby? Live with my mom and become a crazy cat man?" 

 

"You're not going to become a crazy cat man."  

 

"Yeah, I will.  Watch- she'll die and leave me the house, and I'll stay in her old room, alone, and own seventy cats." 

 

"Cats are cool, though."   

 

"And when you come back and visit, you'll see me with all my cats and call me something stupid, like  _Eddie Cats-brak_." 

 

Richie snorts  "That's terrible."   

 

"It's possible."   

 

Richie isn't thinking when he blurts out, "Go with me," but it's out there now, and he watches Eddie smirk and roll his eyes, like he thinks it's just another thing Richie's just saying.   

 

"Come on, Richie," Eddie says, bumping his shoulder.  "That's crazy.  What the hell would I do out there?"   

 

His mind yells at him to  _shut up_ , but his fucking heart just keeps vomiting words.  "Anything.  We can roommate, and we'll both work and you'll go to school and, hell, I don't know.  Be a fucking nurse, or a lawyer, a doctor- fuck, be a libarian if you want to.  Who cares?  Just don't do it in Derry.  Come with me."   

 

Eddie's eyes are full of questions, drifting between Richie's own gaze and his mouth, like he isn't sure what he wants to focus on.  "You're serious?" he says, voice hinting at the hope Richie can see growing in his eyes.  "You mean it..."   

 

It's no time to back down, and Richie doesn't, mostly.  But he does dial back the intensity he feels ready to spew out of his chest.  "Yeah, I mean it.  I mean, I don't want to go alone, anyway.  And there's no one else I can imagine doing something that drastic with."   

 

Eddie's smile makes his pulse jump.  "It's still crazy."   

 

Richie doesn't care.  "So what?  I'm a little crazy.  It's no secret."   

 

Eddie turns away again, staring out at the water, and Richie is dying to know what's going through his head.  He feels so damn pathetic, practically crawling out of his skin for a fucking chance to keep Eddie in his life for a little longer.  Everything he feels is starting to wear on him; it's just so _much_.  He's so young, and just getting prepared to start his life, but his heart is stuck on this boy, who he's cared for deeply a lot longer than he wants to admit.  If he says no- then that's that, Richie will have to find a way to move on at the end of the year.  But if he says yes?   

 

Fuck.  Richie's going to have to live with these unrequited feelings for a really long time.   

 

"Okay," Eddie says, and Richie feels his future settling into place.  He'll love Eddie in California, where there are so many new, different, and probably incredibly interesting people, and Eddie will meet one- probably a nice girl, and he'll fall in love with her.  And Richie?  Well, there's no fucking way he can fall for anyone else.  He'll live with his heart forever attached to a person he can't have.   

 

_Unless_ , his mind supplies, propelled by the sliver of hope growing in his heart _.  Unless Eddie feels the same way_.   

 

Richie takes a chance, and pulls the band out of his pocket and takes Eddie's hand, slipping it over his fingers and down over his wrist, pulling the cords tight and adjusting the beads.  He does it all while barely breathing, so scared to lose his momentum and keep the damn thing to himself forever.  When he's finished, Eddie takes a long look at the beads, a smile growing over his face as he gently touches the lowercase "s" at the end.   

 

Richie draws his hand back a bit, but Eddie takes hold of him before he can get far, turning it over and slipping his fingers between Richie's smoothly.  Like it's no big deal- like it's not making Richie's heart soar.   

 

"Thank you."  Eddie squeezes his hand, giving Richie a look he's pretty sure he doesn't deserve.   

 

Rain starts to fall, slow at first, giving them only a few minutes to get their things together and head back to the car.  Once they shut the doors and Richie's pulling out of the parking lot, it really starts to come down, and he's forced to take it slow along the dark highway, void of other vehicles, trusting Eddie as he guides him down the unknown route.  At one point, when they're about an hour away from home, Eddie asks him if he can change the music, and he puts on a cassette that Richie doesn't recognize at first.  A couple songs go by, and by the time "Heroes" is on, Richie knows it's  _the_ tape- the fucking mix-tape- side two, specifically, and he can't fucking concentrate when Eddie starts to tell him to keep to the right to stay on the same highway.  Somehow, he does as he's told, but he feels his fingers tightening on the steering wheel, his insides a mess like he's got a fucking flock of big ass birds in his gut, with big ass wings, that won't stop fucking  _flapping_ and making him feel both sick and exhilarated.   

 

He chances a look at Eddie, catching the corner of his mouth as it curves upward, his eyes cast down and studying the map under a flashlight.  Riche's not going to say anything- he just  _can't._ It's the fucking opportunity he's been waiting for, and his fucking big, stupid, trashmouth won't cooperate with his brain.   

Eddie starts to hum along at some point, even says that it's his favorite mix, and that every song has grown on him.  There's just no fucking way Richie can handle this- and he's not even sure why.  The reality folds out before him, and he imagines taking the leap- in his mind he pulls the car over and pulls Eddie to him, kissing him and confessing his love, begging him to be with him and never leave him, and Eddie says yes, and-  

 

And then what?   

 

And then everything changes.   

 

They get in to Derry close to eleven, and the last song, "Take My Breath Away" is just starting as Richie turns right down Eddie's quiet, dark street, passing by the lifeless houses and slowing to a stop in front of the equally dead Kaspbrak residence.  The music makes his ears burn, the cheesy lyrics putting his heart out on display, and he's not sure how much more of the tension that's grown in the small space of the car he can take.   

 

Eddie doesn't move to get his things right away, and Richie keeps as still as possible, swallowing down the nerves he feels fighting their way up his throat.  It's been an amazing weekend, one he's not too happy to see end so soon, but he's not even sure how to say it, or if he should even say anything about it at all.   

 

"Today was awesome,"  Eddie says, playing with the band around his wrist, running his thumb over the beads.  "Honestly, I'm not even ready for it to be over."   

 

"Yeah, it was fun."  Fun _?  Fun?_   That's all he can come up with?  How about amazing?  Incredible?  "I think I needed it." 

 

"Me too."   

 

The song ends, and Eddie pops the tape out of the player, carefully sliding it back into the case that says  _For Eds, Love Rich_  in bold, dark ink that Richie was so afraid to write out.  Eddie gets his things together, stuffing a bag full of his purchases in his backpack as he opens the car door and slowly climbs out.  It's stupid, a bad idea, but Richie gets out, moving around the car and catching Eddie before he can walk up to the house alone.   

 

"What are you doing?"  Eddie asks him with a raised brow.   

 

"Nothing, just-" Richie shrugs one shoulder, embarrassed.  "Making sure you get to the door okay."   

 

Eddie groans and ascends the porch steps.  "Everything's fine.  You don't have to escort me around like some  _princess_ , or something."   

 

Richie grins.  "But what if I  _want_  to treat you like a princess?" 

 

Stopping in front of the dark door, Eddie turns and faces Richie, adjusting the strap of his backpack over his shoulder.  "Shut up," he says around a yawn, eyes watery afterward.  "You have to be a gentleman to treat  _anyone_  like a princess, and you're definitely no gentleman."    

 

"Oh yeah?"  Richie challenges, reaching out and taking Eddie's free hand between his own, bringing it up close to his mouth.  "What about now?"  He breathes over Eddie's skin, pressing his lips to Eddie's knuckles, kissing the back of his hand chastely.  It's one of the stupid impulses he has a hard time ignoring, and he's pretty sure he's freaked Eddie out now when all he does is stare, mouth open slightly.   

 

Then it's Richie's turn to get flustered, because Eddie suddenly moves forward, slipping his hand out of Richie's to sneak it over Richie's shoulder, wrapping both limbs round Richie's neck as he steps into the space between Richie's arms.  Richie isn't sure what's happening- and he's suddenly scared shitless,  because Eddie is looking right at his mouth, wetting his lower lip with his tongue, breath hot as it blows over Richie's chin.  Eddie is going to kiss him- he's sure of it- there's no way he can mistake it for something else this time.  But what if that's all Eddie wants?  What if he doesn't want anything more than that?   

 

"Richie,"  Eddie whispers, taking another step forward, and Richie's hands immediately move down to grip the loose sides of his sweater, fumbling before he gets a handful and tugs Eddie even closer, even though he's pretty sure it's a really _, really_  bad idea.  "Rich, I want-"  

 

The front door suddenly opens and the porch light flicks on, revealing Mrs. K., clad in bright, pink pajamas with her hair up in an array of pink rollers.  She pushes open the screen door and Richie backs away, taking his hands off Eddie and descending the steps before she can say anything to him.   

 

Richie stays planted at the bottom, watching as Eddie turns and squares his shoulders, facing her with confidence he's only seen Eddie display a few times before.  He wants to run, before he gets Eddie in even more trouble, or before the fight starts and he has to listen to her say terrible things to him, treat him like he's nothing, belittle him like Eddie isn't her son, like he's just some inconvenience she got stuck with.    

 

"Get inside," she says at last, but Eddie doesn't move right away.  He waves back at Richie, forcing a smile, and then he strides inside the house, stepping past his mom and not acknowledging her as she starts ranting at him.   

 

The door closes and Richie gets out of there fast, hopping into his car and driving away.  He's worried Eddie's going to get put on lockdown, but how, exactly, would she be able to enforce that?  Eddie's always been stubborn, and he's only gotten worse over the years, and Richie can't imagine that she'll be able to keep up with him once he's decided he's had enough of her bullshit.   

 

The whole car smells like Eddie, and Richie inhales the scent all the way home, wondering just how much of an idiot he's going to make of himself when he sees Eddie tomorrow.   

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all liked this. It was too long again, and I'm sorry for that.  
> What is up with all the tumblr snippets of Eddie cheating on Richie with Bill??? I mean WTF?? NO. NOT OKAY.  
> Eddie would never break Richie's heart that way!  
> I'm brainstorming for the Monster Killer fic! I am super excited to start writing that one!


	5. Take My Breath Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!  
> So this took forever- sorry. I suck.  
> There's probably some typos and stuff, but honestly, this chapter has given me nothing but shit- and I'm done with it. I'm washing my hands of fixing anything else. If it sucks, then it sucks.  
> Thank you everyone who has shown this story love. It means a lot, and it's very encouraging.  
> This subject is really important to me. The plot with Sam- it's something I have not gone through to this degree, but I know what it's like when someone won't leave you the hell alone. And I know too many people who have been stalked and assaulted, and that's why I have written this.  
> So- I'm trying this winter thing out. Like- THE HELL ya'll do when it's that damn cold? Die?? I'm freezing here in California and it's maybe 55 degrees in my house.

 

As Monday dawns and Eddie forces himself out of bed, all he can think about is seeing Richie.   

 

He can't believe himself, and how stupid he is- where did the sudden rush of bravery come from last night?  As he scrubs himself down under the hot spray of the shower, he can't quite figure out what the hell he was thinking, being so bold and nearly _kissing_ Richie- on the _mouth_.  It's crazy, and foolish, and even though he really hates his mom for interrupting, he's a little relieved as well, because he's not sure he can handle the rejection if Richie had pushed him away.   

 

As he pulls on his shoes and slips on the wristband Richie gave him, eyeing the beads that spell out _Eds_ , he keeps glancing out the window, and a part of him worries that Richie isn't going to show up this morning.  He's not even sure why he's scared of the possibility- it's not like Richie has ever abandoned him before.  Of all the things they've been through, all the stupid things they've said to each other, all the little fights, and the bigger ones, too- nothing has ever torn them apart.   

 

Richie shows up a little earlier than usual, and Eddie has to rush through his breakfast, shoving the remainder of a slice of toast in his mouth as he grabs his backpack and hurries out the front door.  He's not sure what to expect when he gets in the car, but for everything to be normal- as though the whole weekend was just any other time hanging out- is _definitely_ not it.  Richie starts joking around right away, bringing up some new episode of a show he watches, driving toward the school much faster than he usually does, and the day goes on as usual.   

 

There's a fresh layer of tension between them, which is all Eddie can say is different, and he feels it settle around them as the day goes on.  When Richie comes up behind him between second and third period and squeezes his shoulders, rubbing some of the tension out of his muscles, Eddie has to steady himself so he doesn't lean back into him.  At lunch time Richie sits beside him, and he swoops in and kisses Eddie's hair when Eddie gives him some cookies he packed extra for his lunch, and when their eyes meet, they linger, and Eddie wishes he could ask Richie why the hell he isn't making some kind of move.  After the blatantly obvious attempt at a kiss Eddie pulled, Richie _should_ know that this thing between them runs deeper, and that Eddie is more than willing to take the leap into being more than friends.     

 

"What's going on?"  Bev asks him when the bell rings to end the lunch hour, catching him before he can head off to class.       

 

"Nothing," he replies, maybe too quickly, because she raises an eyebrow up at him, a silent inquiry.  "Well... nothing besides the usual, I guess."   

 

"I've been worried about you," she confides, hooking her arm around his elbow.  "Last week, I know you were pretty irritated with us, and that's okay.  I get it.  But, you know, after this weekend, I thought that things would be different."   

 

Eddie already knows what she means, but he asks her anyway. "Different how?"   

 

Bev looks at him and smiles sadly, her clear, blue eyes standing out under the overcast sky.  "You and Richie.  I thought, you know, that you guys would get yourselves figured out and you'd both be happier."     

 

Yeah, so did he.  "It's not- there's nothing  _wrong_ , you know, with us.  Things are fine."  He glances away, letting his eyes drop to the ground.  "The same."   

 

"The same?"   

 

"Yeah."   

 

She wants to know more, and well, Eddie's a weak thing, so he starts to tell her everything, right there in the hall outside of the cafeteria, where anyone can hear him.  But Bev is smart- much smarter than him- and she drags him out toward the empty field, out to the bleachers at the far end of the fence, where no one will see them.  When they sit down Eddie keeps spilling everything that happened over the weekend, even the parts he's embarrassed to talk about, because they feel so personal, and he's ashamed to admit it when he tells her that he was so damn nervous each time Richie got so close to him, so nervous he's not sure if he could have really went through with anything.  He tells her that he was hoping Richie would understand now, that he could just wait until Richie was ready to make a move, but he's not sure what the hold up is, and that maybe, after everything, Richie is just being  _Richie_ \- a flirt, an idiot, joking around when he doesn't realize that Eddie is completely serious.  

 

And of course she tells him that that's not so.  "He's just got his head up his ass," Bev says, reaching out and flicking a stray bit of hair away from Eddie’s eyes.  "And, you know, he might be waiting for  _you_ to do something about it."   

 

Eddie frowns.  "Like what?"   

 

"Oh, gee, I don't know," Bev says while pulling a cigarette out of a hidden pack in her sweater.  She cups her hand around the flame from her lighter as she takes a few quick puffs to light the end.  "Maybe tell him?  Just be honest."  Her voice is slightly muffled around the butt, and she blows a whole stream of smoke out toward her other side, away from Eddie.  "No bullshitting." 

 

Eddie is quiet for a bit, thinking.  It's not like he's been _lying_ this whole time.  Every time he's with Richie he knows that _everything_ he feels is written all over his face, and he's not even sure _how_ he knows, but he’s scared that Richie can tell, and he’s simply humoring him.  "What do I say?"  He asks, and it sounds so stupid in his own head, but he's got no idea where to start. 

 

"Tell him how he makes you feel."   

 

Oh yeah- so simple.  "But I don't know how to describe it." 

 

Bev smiles and crosses her legs, flicking her lighter open and closed as she says, "When you see him, you know- when you _look_ at each other, and you make eye contact- what does it feel like?"   

 

"Like..."  Eddie imagines it- standing in the hallway, his peers all around him, bustling to class, bumping into his shoulder- but Richie is in front of him, and their eyes are locked, and he can't breathe, and Richie smiles- and it's like all the air is sucked out of his lungs, and there's nothing for him to hold on to, and he's falling- he's _drowning_ -   

 

"Well?"  Bev nudges him, pulling him out of his thoughts.  "Tell me."   

 

Eddie takes a deep breath.  "Like I'm... falling.  And it's- it's like, breathing doesn't matter, I guess?  Or like, I need to do  _something_ , so I can breathe again, and I just want to..." 

 

"Kiss him?"   

 

Nodding, Eddie exhales, placing a hand over his fluttering stomach.  "Yeah..."   

 

Bev is staring at him, her eyes thoughtful, and she nods, flicking some ashes away as she says, " _Wow._   Eds- I think you're in love."   

 

He's been afraid of that.  "What if I am, and Richie just... what if I want more than he does?"   

 

Bev smirks, her eyes falling down to his wrist, and she looks the wristband over, reaching out and thumbing the beads and the cords.  "Is that the thing he gave you?" 

 

Eddie nods.  "Yeah."

 

"At Kettle Cove?" 

 

"Yes..."  

 

She starts laughing, leaning down to look closer at the letters.  "My god, he's a sap.  Seriously, Eddie- you've got _nothing_ to worry about,"

 

"But what if-"

 

She grabs him in a one-armed hug.  "Nope- none of that.  Trust me- Richie's crazy about you."   

 

They leave not long after that, sneaking back into the hallways as casually as they can, going their separate ways after a long, warm hug that makes Eddie feel a little better.   

 

Eddie's brain spins with his thoughts all through English class.  He's not sure what he can do, or how he can explain to Richie how much he means in Eddie's life.  It's not that simple- how do you tell someone that you need them, and you're starting to think you can't live without them?  When the bell rings, he doesn't even care that he's missed the whole lesson and whatever piece their supposed to read and summarize before tomorrow.  All he wants to do is get to Richie and give this "no bullshitting" thing a try, even though he's pretty sure it's all going to blow up in his face.  He gets his things switched around in his locker and hurries out to the student lot, weaving between a few annoying groups of his peers that are blocking the doorway.  He can see Richie as he steps outside, leaning against his car, smoking- and his heart skips, and his pulse starts pumping faster- but Richie is talking to Stan alone, their heads close together.  Eddie slows his pace; they might be talking about something important, or maybe Stan's not doing too well again- it's a constant struggle, Stan explained to them all- and he doesn't want to intrude on that.  As he's taking slow steps toward the car, he almost gets knocked over when Bev comes running up behind him and tucks one arm around his waist, asking him excitedly if he's going to talk to Richie now or later on.

 

Eddie shakes his head.  "Not now.  Maybe... later, tonight? I don't know."   

 

"Let me know when you do.  I  _need_  to be there!"   

 

"Why?" 

 

"Because I wanna watch!"  She says, rolling her eyes, as thought to say "Duh- idiot."   

 

"Watch _what_ , exactly?"  He asks, looking down at her.   

 

She waggles her brows.  "You guys make out."   

 

Eddie chokes on air.  "What?!" 

 

"It's gonna happen, anyway," she explains with a shrug.  "I _can't_ fucking miss it!"   

 

They reach Richie and Stan then, and Mike comes up, too, taking Bev in his arms and kissing her, distracting her from torturing Eddie with all her advice.  Maybe Eddie should have kept it all to himself, then he wouldn't feel so damn nervous standing here, right next to Richie, dying to look up and make eye contact with him, so he can feel that wonderful feeling-   

 

Eddie lifts his head, his heart thumping hard when their eyes lock, his hands wringing together in front of him as he tries to keep his breathing under control.  Richie's giving him such a soft look, blowing smoke out of his mouth as he tosses his cigarette on the ground and stubs it out, never looking away once.  The moment doesn't linger, though, and they climb in the car and things move on, just like any other day.  And just like any other day, Eddie chickens out, hopping out of the car when Richie pulls up to the library with a quick goodbye and fleeing inside.   

 

His shift passes by fast, and he's honestly relieved when he finds out that he doesn't have to close because Mrs. Starrett is back.  She tells him she's going to be taking off again soon, because her daughter is very sick, and she's very grateful for all his help.  It takes his mind off Richie for a while, which is helpful, and when his shift is over and he’s in Richie’s car he's too tired to think about much of anything. When Richie drops him off, he’s so out of it that he barely notices that his mom's car isn't parked out front, which is very strange, considering how late it is.      

 

The whole house is dark when he gets inside.  He switches the kitchen light on and heads upstairs to his room, dragging his feet and fighting the overwhelming wave of exhaustion he feels telling him to get in bed as soon as possible.  He's not even hungry, so he considers skipping dinner all-together.  Or he could snack on something- like some peanut butter, or leftovers, if there's anything in the fridge.  Pizza sounds like a great idea- but then he has to _call_ , and _order_ , and _wait_.  He decides it's too much effort as he pushes his bedroom door open and flips the light on-    

 

He stops in the doorway; the laundry basket from his bathroom is dumped out all over his bed, dirty clothes spilling over the sides and piling on the floor around the bed skirt- what the fuck?  He goes over to the clothes on the floor, starts picking them up, grabbing the basket and tossing them inside, and he wonders if this is something his mom would actually do out of anger.  Possibly- she was pretty pissed last night, going off on him for over an hour while he tried to just ignore her and get to bed, banging his bedroom door open, screaming in his face, calling Richie all kinds of names- yeah, maybe she is capable of doing something as pointless as this.   

 

He decides it’s better to just run a load- the basket is full, anyway- so he carries the basket out of his room and into the hall, barely glancing up at the bathroom door, idly wondering why it's closed, since he always leaves it open.  Weird, but if his mom did this, then she’s the one who left it shut.  There’s no reason for her to come upstairs often- she basically lives downstairs out of the master bedroom, and leaves the whole upstairs to him.  It's nice, unless she decides to be nosy and come snooping in his room, or eavesdrop by the door when and if he has his friends over. It’s something she used to do a lot more back when he was younger, back when he would let her walk all over him.

 

Eddie goes into the laundry room and gets his clothes going, breathing in the refreshing, relaxing smell of his favorite detergent before he gets back upstairs.  He's about to go into his bedroom when something catches his eye- it's the spare bedroom door, open slightly, when it- it wasn't before… right?  Just now- it was closed- he _knows_ it was closed-

 

Cool air draws his attention to his room, and he cranes his neck to look inside, and the pit of his stomach curdles; his window is open, and it- it was closed, too.  It was  _locked_.  He was _just_ in here, and come to think of it, he takes another look at the bathroom, and the fucking door is open now.   

 

_What the fuck._    

 

He picks up the cordless phone in the hall and hesitates, contemplating calling the police.  It's completely stupid and irrational, but he doesn't want to call them- he doesn't want to deal with their bullshit- so he dials Richie's number instead.  Richie isn't answering, which means he hasn't made it home yet.   _Fuck_.  Eddie backs away, approaching the top of the stairs, clutching the phone to his chest before he dials again.  This time Richie's dad answers, and Eddie asks him to please- _please_ tell Richie to come over right away, the second he gets in the door, voice shaking and catching on every other word.  Mr. Tozier tries to ask him if he's okay, but Eddie just hangs up the phone, then flees down the stairs, not looking back as he throws the door open and hurries outside, stopping at the top of the porch steps and turning around.  The entryway is dark, the kitchen lamp over the table the only source of light downstairs.  Eddie sits down, cordless in hand, cross-legged and facing the open front door.  He's shaking- fuck- why is he shaking?  He doesn't want to be scared like this, but he can't fucking help it.     

 

It doesn't take Richie long to get there, and when he pulls up, Eddie is on his feet, and he's pointing to the house, his voice quaking as he tells Richie what happened, about the laundry, and the doors, and-  

 

Richie shushes him, his eyes big and concerned, one hand coming up and cupping Eddie's face.  "I'm gonna take a look, okay?"      

 

Eddie starts shaking his head.  "No.  No- what if- what if there's someone in there?"   

 

"That's why I'm gonna check-"  

 

"No!"   

 

"Eds- look, someone _has_ to check.  We can call the police, if you want." 

 

" _No._ "   

 

"Then  _we_  need to make sure it's safe."  Richie runs his hand down over Eddie's arm, slowly, a comforting gesture that makes Eddie sigh.  "You stay out here." 

 

Like hell.  "No,"  Eddie says, turning around and glancing through the open door.  "Let's... let's go."   

 

Richie goes inside first, and Eddie follows him.  They check every room downstairs, every closet, the space between the washer and dryer, the weird little window in the laundry room, then they head up to the second floor, and Eddie huddles close behind Richie.  There's a queen bed in the spare bedroom, against the far wall, under the windows, and one of the windows is wide open, and the comforter is wrinkled beneath it, like someone crawled inside on their hands and knees.  Eddie closes it while Richie checks the closet, and his heart starts to pound- someone was _definitely_ in the house, maybe when he first walked in, and  _anything_  could have happened.   

 

They leave the spare room and Eddie shakes those thoughts away, going into the bathroom and flipping the light on.  It seems clear at first, until Richie starts looking around and pulls the curtain aside, revealing a large set of  shoe prints in the tub, where it looks as though someone must have been standing inside, hiding.  Richie swears, and drags Eddie to his room, angry and ranting about how it  _must_  be Sam- who the hell else?  All Eddie can do is silently follow him, shocked, watching uselessly as Richie checks his closet, then pulls out an old backpack of his and starts pulling a couple sweaters off his hangers, stuffing them inside.   

 

"You're staying at my house tonight,"  Richie says, and he tosses the backpack on the bed and goes over to the open window and slides it shut, then flips the lock.  "This is bullshit.  Where the hell is your mom?"   

 

Eddie shrugs and picks up the backpack, pulling open his underwear drawer and grabbing a clean pair.  He goes over to the bed, spotting some dark boxers stuffed under his pillow; carefully, he pulls them out, recoiling when his hand comes into contact with something wet, and sticky, all over the crotch and the edges, and he drops them on the floor, gasping at the substance coating his palm.  "W-What the- what the fuck..." 

 

"What?"  Richie comes over to him, cautiously picking up the boxers with his fingertips, frowning down at the thick, white smears.  "Did you... did you jizz on these?"   

 

Eddie shakes his head, starting to gag.  "N-No, no, I- I don't do that.  I... I don't think those are..."  They're too big for him- they _can't_ be his- and it hits him, that if it was Sam, he must have been hiding in the bathroom, touching himself, and- oh  _god_ \- bile rushes up his throat and he runs to the bathroom, not bothering to even turn on the light as he bends over the toilet and throws up what feels like his entire stomach.  The smell invades his nostrils, and it makes him dry heave, and gag again, and he feels fingers sliding over his neck, hands pulling his hair back as he clings to the seat and drops to his knees.  He can't- he can't fucking _take_ this.  It's so disgusting, and demented, and just- just  _why?_    

 

As soon as his stomach has nothing left to give, he flushes the toilet and shakily steps over to the sink, grabbing the bar of soap off the counter to wash his hands.  He washes them once, then brushes his teeth, but he's sure he can still feel the stickiness between his fingers, so he washes them again.  And again.  And _again_ \- until he's washed them about seven times, and Richie just stands behind him all the while, hands on his shoulders, quiet and supportive, exactly what Eddie needs.  He doesn't even realize he's crying until he turns around, looking up at Richie, and Richie swipes at a tear as it pools and escapes the corner of his eye.   

 

They go to Richie's house and Eddie curls up on the bed, staying to the far left, and he can't even think of anything to say, or do, of any words or reasons why someone would do something so incredibly disgusting.  The thought of Sam walking into his bedroom, at any point when Eddie was in the house, is just... he can't let his brain dwell on it.  So he tries to go to sleep, and when the lights are flicked off and Richie's weight dips the right side of the bed, Eddie rolls over and clings to him, his hands grasping at Richie's shirt, though he keeps the space between their bodies.  It's not ideal, and he wants to give in and hide in the comfort of Richie's limbs, but he holds back.  He's not even sure why.   

 

At school the next day he feels disgusting.  He was able to shower and brush his teeth at Richie's house in the morning, but he can't stop thinking about being alone in the house, and what Sam would have done if he had caught Eddie by himself, without his mom, or Richie, or even any of the other Losers.  He doesn't want to go back- it's the last thing he wants to do- but he has to, even though Richie keeps insisting that Eddie should camp out in his room until he can figure something else out.   

 

When he walks through the front door after school, his mom is there, and she's bustling around the living room, getting her things together, purse over her shoulder, shoes on.  Eddie isn't sure where she's going, and he doesn't want to ask- all he knows is that he's going to be alone again, and he doesn't know what the hell to do about it.   

 

"Hello, sweetie," she says, moving past him and into the kitchen.  Eddie doesn't respond and starts up the staircase, but she calls him back down,  and he rolls his eyes as he steps through the entryway.   

 

"Yeah?"  He asks, watching her throw a tube of chapstick in her coat pocket.   

 

She looks at him evenly, her eyes moving up and down his body- he doesn't even want to know what she's thinking.  "I'm going away this week," she says, and Eddie's stomach feels like it's falling out of him.  Her eyebrows pinch together and she sighs heavily, then slips a coat on over her green blouse.  "I need... _space_.  I need to be away from everything, from you, you know- mom's _need_ vacations from time to time."   

 

What the fuck did  _he_  do?  "Okay," he replies, holding himself back from visibly panicking.  "The  _whole_ week?"   

 

She nods, gives him a hesitant kiss on the cheek, then hurries out the front door, calling back that she'll be out until very late.  The house is dead silent, and Eddie immediately goes to the phone, dialing the first few digits of Richie's number before he stops.  He can't keep doing this- he needs to be strong on his own, no matter how much he wants to ask Richie to come over, and how much he knows it will comfort him to have Richie there with him, keeping his mind off all the bad things with his jokes and his smiles and his constant loop of positive and ridiculous things he likes to talk about.  

 

Eddie hangs up the phone and goes upstairs, and he spends the night constantly jumping at every little sound the house makes, checking downstairs and locking the doors over and over, checking the windows, keeping his music on low and a chair under the door handle.  At one point he hears the phone ring, and when he answers it, he's greeted by silence at first, then breathing, low and quick.  He slams the cordless back in it's holder when the breathing turns to panting, and he doesn't answer it the rest of the night, though it rings four more times.    

 

: : : :   

 

On Wednesday morning Eddie's mom is out the door with her bags packed, and she tells him that she'll be back Sunday night- maybe sooner.  He doesn't have time to panic again, because not ten minutes later Richie picks him up, and he's forced to try and carry on through the day as usual.   

 

At lunch the Losers try to make plans for the upcoming weekend; Stan suggests going bowling, while Mike tries to convince them all to go shooting out on the farm.  Richie says he doesn't care what they do, and Bev comes up with going to see a movie.   

 

"We haven't all gone together in a while," she says, scribbling across a sheet of paper full of equations, scooting it away from Richie's tray- the danger zone.  "We can see _Carlito's Way_.  It's got Al Pacino," she says, smiling when Mike elbows her gently.   

 

"Oh, well we  _have_  to see it!"  Richie gasps, and Bev tosses a fry at him.  

 

"Why not?"  Mike says while Stan nods, and it seems like the plans are set, and, well, maybe it will be fun?  They can get there early, maybe get dinner before, sneak snacks inside- it's dark enough, and-  

 

And then Eddie suddenly can't breathe.   

 

He doesn't mean to think about it.  He doesn't  _want_  to think about it.  But it's in his head now, and he feels like he's dragged back to that night, washing his hands at the bathroom sink in the theater, and _fuck_ \- he even remembers what he was thinking.  He couldn't get his mind off Richie, and how the whole night felt like a date, but he wasn't sure if he should ask, or maybe instigate something- and then suddenly the door was locking behind him, and Sam was pressing him back against the counter, shoving him down and trapping him in place with his hips, grinding against Eddie's pelvis, taking Eddie's chin in a painful grip and forcing his mouth on him, biting down on his lip before moving to his neck and sucking hard as Eddie pushed at his shoulders, turned his face away, but Sam just kept going-  

 

"Eddie?"   

 

The cafeteria comes rushing back, and it's like someone flipped the sound switch and he can hear everything around him again.  He can hear himself breathing hard, can feel his chest growing tight and his stomach rolling as the memories of that night slam into the front of his mind.  He turns and finds Richie staring at him, his hand on Eddie's arm while Bev, Stan and Mike look on worriedly.   

 

"Eds,"  Richie says to him, cautious, scooting closer and touching the back of Eddie's hand.  "Are you okay?" 

 

Eddie doesn't answer- he can't.  It feels like every eye in the cafeteria is watching him, even though he knows that's not true.  God- what can't he just be _normal_?  Why can't he still go see a movie without thinking about what Sam did to him?  He doesn't wait to see what Richie, or any of the Losers have to say; Eddie gets up, grabbing his backpack and ignoring each of them as they call after him.  They just- they don't need him around, messing up all their plans, taking up all their time and patience.   

 

The bathroom near the band rooms is always empty, so Eddie goes there, squeezing into the last stall and leaning back against the cool plaster, covering his face with his palms as he takes deep breaths.  He's been trying so damn hard not to think about it, not to let it ruin every single aspect of his life- yet here he is, succumbing to the pain, incapable of even _thinking_ about going back to the theater without breaking down.  If he can avoid that place for the rest of his life he wants to, as ridiculous as it sounds; there's just no way he can see himself enjoying any time there again.  He just _can't_.  As it is he can barely get through a day without his mind drifting away and replaying every time Sam has touched him, every word Sam has said to him, every time he smiled like he wasn't doing anything wrong.   

 

A knock on the stall door makes him jump, but he relaxes when he recognizes Richie's voice.   

 

"Eds, it's me.  Can you... will you let me in?"  Eddie should say no, but he slides the lock open, powerless in the face of Richie's genuine concern.  Richie slips inside, locking it again once he's got the door closed, and he moves in toward Eddie, his warm hands cupping Eddie's face.  "Hey."   

 

Eddie looks up at him.  "What?"   

 

Richie eyes are sad and regretful.  "I'm sorry we brought up the theater.  Bev wasn't thinking.  You know she'd never-"  

 

"It's fine," Eddie cuts him off quick, because he can't stand to have a conversation out loud about this right now, not when his brain is already swimming in his dark thoughts.  "It's... it's fine."  

 

"It's not,"  Richie tells him, and he thumbs away the few tears that have escaped under Eddie's left eye.  "Look, we can figure something else out, yeah?  Maybe we can go bowling, or we can just hang out at Bev's, or Stan's.  Or, you know, maybe we can go on a drive-" 

 

"No."  Eddie hates this, all this planning around him, walking on egg shells, his friends bound to a certain amount of subjects and locations- all because of  _him._   "You guys go.  I don't, I don't need to go.  I'll just... I'll stay home.  I don't wanna ruin your plans."   

 

"You're not ruining anything." 

 

Eddie holds back his retort, another round of "Yes, I am.  I ruin everything" he can't bring himself to say.  He knows if he does, Richie will just defend him, and try to reassure him that he's not a burden, even though it's the truth.  After a few moments he says, "Really, you all should go and have fun.  I don't feel like seeing anything anyway."   

 

Richie's hands fall away from him, and he adjusts his glasses, his fingers pinching the corner of the frames as he looks down at Eddie sadly.  "I want you there, Eds.  If you're not there, then who is gonna be cute and tell me to fuck off?" 

 

"I'll have Stan take over for me,"  Eddie says, and when Richie grins, he realizes he hasn't seen Richie smile as much lately, not since everything with Sam has started.  He wants to see the easy going, fun, joking Richie again, eyes lit up as he says the stupidest things, mostly to Eddie.  He blurts out the first thought that comes to mind, chuckling humorlessly as he considers what the hell happened to his brain-to-mouth filter.  "I'm ruining your life."   

 

Richie looks surprised.  "What the hell?  No you're not."   

 

"Yeah, I am."  Eddie sighs and crosses his arms.  "You're probably sick of me by now, but you're too damn nice to tell me."   

 

"Why the fuck would you think that?"   

 

"Half the time we hang out I'm blubbering all over you."  Eddie looks down, keeping his eyes on the dirty floor of the stall, sliding the toe of his shoe away from a questionable wet spot.  "I just wish, you know, that I could handle all this on my own." 

 

"Eds..." 

 

"I don't even know what the fuck to do," Eddie says, and goes on without thinking, quietly saying, "My mom's gone all week, and I don't wanna be alone in that- that  _house_." 

 

"All week?" 

 

Eddie nods.  "She left this morning."     

 

They're both quiet for a moment, then Richie says, "Come stay with me.  My parents won't care."   

 

Eddie shakes his head, running a palm down over his face.  "I can't do that."   

 

"Why the fuck not?"   

 

Eddie rolls his eyes, frustrated.  " _Because_ , I don't want to be a bother.  I  _need_  to stay home."  

 

"You're not a bother." 

 

"Yes, I am!"   

 

Richie moves in closer, trapping Eddie against the wall, and while he's not extremely tall, or thick, his shoulders are wide and Eddie feels boxed in.  He immediately moves his arms under Richie's, spreading his palms out over Richie's shoulder blades, keeping his breath as even as possible, even though his heart is pounding at how close they are once again.   

 

Nothing is said for a few moments.  Richie just stares down at him, foreheads close together, and Eddie isn't sure how much more of this he can take.  Every time Richie gets too close he crumbles a little more, and he doesn't know what will happen when he's got nothing left to chip away, no more will to resist, no more excuses left to make, as flimsy as they are now.  He inhales, staring up into Richie's eyes, pulling Richie in with the slight pressure of his hands, and he  _wants_  him so bad, in every way he knows how to want someone.  He's never felt his skin prick at the nearness of another person, never knew it was possible to feel like he can't breathe without someone’s hands on him.  Yet here he is, dragging Richie in, needing his smiles, and embraces, his words and his voice and his smell, needing him the way he needs basic things, like food and air, and sleep.  And Richie is just so _wonderful_ , so giving, so damn nice and beautiful, and if Eddie can never pluck up the courage to make this in to something, he knows that whoever Richie ends up with in the long run will be one lucky person, and he'll envy them forever.   

 

Richie leans forward, presses his lips against Eddie's hair, and he sneaks a hand around Eddie's waist, his palm low on Eddie's back, and he says, quietly, "Since you think you're such a bother, how about I stay with you?" 

 

Eddie shivers, and he leans more into Richie's space.  "Only if you want to." 

 

"I'll eat all your food, use all your toilet paper."  Richie steps back a little bit, and Eddie misses his warmth immediately.  "What do you think?"   

 

Eddie smiles, and he feels like a little bit of weight has been lifted from his shoulders.  "Okay."   

 

Eddie has work that night, but it's only for a few hours.  After Richie picks him up they head back to his house, and this time when he walks in, he's not afraid.  They both head up the stairs to his bedroom, Richie dropping his bag of clothes right on the floor; Eddie tells him to pick his shit up, but he can't help but smile stupidly as Richie digs a hooded sweater out from his duffel bag and pulls it down over his head, knocking his glasses crooked and messing up his hair even more.   

 

They get started on their homework, and Eddie complains about the pile of math they have to do, even though Richie assures him that he'll help him get it all done.  It's a little hard to concentrate with Richie there, as it usually is, but it's even worse now, because Eddie can't stop thinking about waking up in the morning and having Richie there.   

 

Richie is starving, so they head downstairs to the kitchen, and Eddie combs through the fridge and the cupboards, disappointed when he comes up with very little he can actually make.  He's no chef- his skills include scrambling eggs, using the microwave, and boiling water.   

 

"I'll make something," Richie says when Eddie admits this, and Eddie watches as Richie reaches up to a higher shelf and pulls down a box of macaroni, some tomato sauce, and an interesting combination of spices.  "Where are the pots and shit?"   

 

Eddie gets everything Richie needs together, and even brings his boombox down from his room to play his favorite tape-  _the_  tape, and when he presses play and it starts on side one, Richie smiles back at him, and Eddie's insides turn into a stupid, swooping, fluttering mess.  It's all so... normal, and domestic, and he can imagine this kind of life with Richie in California, whether they are roommates or something more.  Richie starts singing along to "Amanda" when it comes on, alternating between stirring the pot of sauce he's got going and holding his arm out in Eddie's direction, bellowing out the chorus as Eddie blushes and pretends he isn't enjoying himself.  Eddie snorts when Richie's voice cracks, hovering close by, watching as Richie starts to boil the macaroni.   

 

"How did you learn how to cook?"  Eddie asks, inhaling the amazing smell of the sauce.   

 

Richie shrugs one shoulder.  "Uh... my dad," he answers, and he removes his glasses and wipes them off on the bottom of his sweater.  "He's like, weirdly awesome in the kitchen.  He hasn't taught me a lot, but he showed me some basic things, and how to follow recipes and shit."   

 

Eddie nods, imagining Richie's dad cracking jokes, or gently smacking the back of Richie’s head whenever Richie screws something up.  It must be nice- that even though Richie's mom is distant and can seem quite emotionally absent- his dad is there to make up the difference.  Not for the first time Eddie wonders what life would be like with his dad around, if things would be different, if his mom would be happier, if  _he_  would be different, better, confident.     

 

"What's this?''  Richie asks, and when Eddie sees what he's holding in his hand, all thoughts of his deceased father, and Richie's parents, and every good feeling he had just moments before are sucked right out of him.  It's the mixtape- the one Sam made for him, and Richie's looking at it closely, reading something on the back, and Eddie wants to hit the rewind button on the last few minutes, so he can stop and avoid ever acknowledging it. 

 

"It's uh," Eddie stops, and when Richie looks up at him, all he can say is, "Sam made it.  For me."   

 

Richie turns it over, studying the plain, white cover, and he says, "Have you listened to it?"   

 

Eddie shakes his head.  "I didn't want to."   

 

He still doesn't want to, but when Richie goes over to the boombox and switches the tapes around, Eddie doesn't protest.  Richie hits play, and an upbeat, synthesized song starts playing that Eddie's never heard before.  A man and a woman sing back and forth about some kind of obsession, and Richie scoffs at the music as he scoops up what he made into two bowls and sets them on the table. Eddie just hopes that the rest of the songs aren't so bad.   

 

There's "Run For Your Life" that Eddie recognizes, "One Way Or Another", "Every Breath You Take", "Sunglasses at Night", and as they go on into the ones he doesn’t know, he starts to lose his appetite while listening closely to the lyrics.  Richie is sitting beside him, and when Eddie starts pushing his food around on his plate, he feels the warm, familiar comfort of Richie's arm around his shoulders.  He can't believe he's never realized how terrible some of these songs are- they're disgusting, and degrading, and he can't imagine ever being so entirely consumed with wanting someone in such a negative way.  Who is writing this kind of music?  Why is it allowed to be produced?   

 

Richie takes his hand when Eddie starts shaking, listening as "Keep On Loving You" plays, and he doesn't want to hear anything else.  What is Sam thinking?  That Eddie will leap into his arms happily, after everything, just because of some fucking tape he made him?  He's relieved when the song ends and silence follows, his head set on Richie's shoulder, fingers clinging tightly to his sweater, savoring the quiet as Richie reaches out to switch the power off.   

 

Just as he's about to hit the button, something that sounds like a rustling comes out of the speakers.  "Wait-"  Eddie says, grabbing Richie's wrist  before he can shut it down.  "Did you hear that?"   

 

There's another sound, similar to the one before, and then there's an inhale, and Eddie prepares himself for whatever Sam might have said on this tape.  He hasn't seen or spoken to him since the day he ran out of his house, and he's not sure he can handle hearing his voice right now.  He knows that the creepy, breathy phone calls he got earlier in the week were Sam- who else would they be?

 

Richie's eyes grow wide when a new sound starts up, and it's one Eddie knows, but isn't completely familiar with to recognize straight away.  There's the slick sound of skin on skin, and then heavy breathing, quickly turning to a fast, harsh panting.  This- this can't be happening.  He's _not_ hearing this- no way.  No fucking way. It’s a bad dream- a nightmare.  It has to be.    

 

" _Eddie,_ "  Sam's voice moans, and Eddie blanches, pushing away from the table as he gets to his feet and starts to back away- but Sam goes on.  " _Eddie- fuck, do you know what I want to do to you?"_

 

"What the fuck?"  Richie breathes out, his eyes big behind his glasses.   

 

Sam's voice keeps going, strained, broken up by his accelerated breathing.  " _I'm gonna make love to you so h-hard.  You're gonna- f-fuck- you're gonna beg me to get inside you-unnggg-"_

 

"T-Turn it off," Eddie stammers, his feet carrying him back and toward the bathroom, and Richie hits the stop button just as Sam lets out a loud, throaty groan, Eddie's name mixed in with the awful sound, echoing in his ears as Richie ejects the tape and slams it down on the floor.   

 

Richie turns to him, and he's got his arms stretched out, coming toward him- but Eddie  _can't_ \- he just- he doesn't want to be touched, he doesn't want Richie’s comfort.  He's never felt so gross in his life, so dirty, so disgusting, so-  

 

He gags, turning around and shutting himself inside the bathroom, locking the door and refusing to open it when Richie knocks and begs to be let in.   

 

"Eddie, come on," Richie's voice soothes from the other side, but it’s doing nothing to help him calm down right now.  "Come out.  You don't have to ever listen to that again- I'm- I'm sorry.  I'm sorry, Eds.  I shouldn't have put it on."   

 

But Eddie doesn't open up.  He sits down on the toilet seat, resting his forehead on the cool, smooth counter, holding back the choking in his throat threatening to heave up everything in his stomach.  He can't even process what he's feeling- there's a heavy, caving sensation in his chest, and his hands won't stop shaking, no matter how hard he wrings them together, or how deep he digs his nails into his palms.  He was feeling good, and safe, and happy- and Sam has taken it all away again.  He's taken so much away from him- his will to push himself to do better, his already fragile trust in the touch of another person, the bits of confidence he had stored away, enough to get him through the dark thoughts when his mother criticizes his body and his appearance.  And now?  Now what does he have?   

 

Eddie stays inside the bathroom for a while, listening as Richie destroys the tape, smashing it on the ground just outside the door.   

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Richie has no fucking idea what to do.   

 

He sits outside the bathroom for what feels like hours, begging Eddie to open the door, to let him in, and let him help, in any way he possibly can.  But Eddie is so damn stubborn- or maybe he's officially had enough- and he flat out refuses, and even stops responding to Richie after a while, no matter how many times Richie says his name.  When Eddie finally emerges he’s quiet, with no trace of any tears, no smell of vomit- even though Richie heard him gagging several times in there- and he doesn’t say a word.   

 

Now it's time for bed, and Richie is flat on his back on the far right of Eddie's full size mattress, and he starts to think that maybe he should offer to sleep in the spare room.  He's fucking terrified to say anything, though, as Eddie enters the room, clad in a soft-looking shirt and dark sweats, his eyes downcast as he switches the light off.  He slides into the bed, turning on his side, facing away from Richie- and he hates to admit it, even to himself, but it hurts a little bit, because all Richie wants to do is hold him, and comfort him, and tell him that everything is going to be okay.   

 

Getting to sleep seems impossible with all his thoughts whirling around, centered on the boy beside him.  If Richie was braver, he'd roll over and scoop Eddie up in his arms, hug him and tell him he loves him, that he's not going to let  _anything_  happen to him- but he's a coward, and he's not sure Eddie won't shove him away, or kick him out of the room, and then he'll  _have_  to sleep in the spare room, alone, wanting so badly to be next to Eddie.  So he keeps to himself, slowly slipping into a dream filled with dark tunnels, and school, and Eddie standing on the opposite side of a long, pitch black hall, illuminated in a narrow beam of light, yelling something at him across the darkness, but Richie can't hear what he's trying to say.    

 

Something jolts Richie awake- a sound, and movement, the bed dipping a little as he blinks his eyes open and squints to the left, peering through the darkness to see Eddie sitting up against the headboard.  Richie turns over- he ended up with his back to Eddie at some point- and he notices that the desk chair is wedged under the door handle, an obstacle for anyone attempting to break into the room.   

 

"Eds?"  He says groggily, reaching out and gently touching Eddie's knee.  "Whas goin' on?"  

 

Eddie exhales unsteadily, then says, "There was a noise downstairs."  He pauses, pulls his legs in closer to himself.  "I um, I went and checked.  It's nothing."   

 

Richie stares up at him, looking closely at the slight tremble of Eddie's lip, the heaviness of his eyes- it's a look he's seen before, plenty of times, when Eddie's scared and trying his best to hide it.  He  _hates_  that look; Eddie should never be that terrified of something.  He can't hold back- he lifts his left arm up in invitation, says, "Come here," as softly as he can, and Eddie only hesitates for a second before he's crawling under the covers and plastering himself to Richie's side.  His fingers curl in Richie's shirt, resting on his abdomen, and he sets his head down on Richie's shoulder; Richie drapes his arm over Eddie's back, and starts to run his fingernails down and along Eddie's spine, stopping once he reaches the dip, and he splays his hand out over the warmth seeping through the cotton shirt Eddie is wearing.  Maybe Richie's dreaming- yeah, he's got to be- because  _this_  is what he's been wanting ever since the night in the motel room, when he got his first real taste of having Eddie this way, and he can't imagine how it could possibly be happening again.  " _Now_  you're okay with snuggling, huh?"  he mumbles drowsily, eyes already sliding closed once again, to slip away into another strange dream.  "But last weekend, when  _I_  wanted to, you told me to fuck off."  

 

Eddie huffs, his warm breath puffing over Richie's neck, sending little tingles all through his skin.  "I didn't say  _that._   I told you to turn on the heater."   

 

"Same thing."  

 

"It's not."  

 

Richie chuckles, turning his head a bit to nuzzle Eddie's hair, breathing in the sweet, melon scent that must be his shampoo.  It smells so  _good_ , and the scent fits him perfectly.  "You okay?" he asks, settling his free hand on his stomach, inches away from where Eddie is gripping his shirt.  

 

Eddie shifts closer.  "I can't sleep," he says, and there's something in his voice that has Richie wide awake instantly.  "I can't stop thinking about that stupid tape."   

 

Richie's heart sinks, and he tightens his arm around Eddie's back.  "I'm sorry," he says, uncurling his fingers on his abdomen to reach out to Eddie's, as casually as he can.  "I didn't mean to make you listen to it."   

 

"I probably would have at some point, anyway." 

 

"Still.  I'm sorry."   

 

Eddie doesn't reply or a few minutes, then he says, "I just don't understand.  Why would someone do something like that?  It's... it’s insane. And gross."   

 

Richie doesn't have a good answer for him, but he tries anyway.  "I don't know.  Some people are just, you know, demented.  There's a lot of fucked up people out there, and they do creepy, stupid shit, just to catch you off-guard.  That's what he was probably trying to do."   

 

Eddie sighs.  "You're probably right, but why... why that, of all things?"   

 

Richie shrugs a little.  "He probably knows how easily grossed-out you are, and he's doing anything he can to get inside your head."  He wishes he knew the right thing to say, but he just doesn't.  How can he try to explain all of this to Eddie when he doesn't understand it himself?  "I fucking hate seeing you like this." 

 

"Like what?"  Eddie asks, and he somehow gets closer, slipping his knee between Richie's legs and pressing his nose against Richie's throat. 

 

Richie swallows, shifting back slightly to keep Eddie's thigh away from the danger zone.  "Upset, scared, sad and- and _hurt_."   

 

"I'm fine..." 

 

"You're not."   

 

Eddie is quiet for a bit, and then he scoots himself in more, closing the bit of space Richie created just moments ago, breathing softly against Richie's throat.  "I feel better now, like this.  With you." 

 

Richie's heart starts pounding.  "Yeah?"   

 

He feels Eddie nod.  "Yeah."   

 

Pulling his head back a bit, Richie looks down, meeting Eddie's hooded eyes when Eddie lifts his chin up to look at him.  He feels his throat go dry at the naked affection in Eddie's gaze, the warmth he sees there, the trust.  It's almost too much to handle- how is he _worthy_ of this?  He's done nothing to earn it.  Every time Eddie looks at him this way he feels himself wither a little more- what is Eddie seeing in him?  "Good.  I want you to feel better."   

 

Eddie lowers his head again, right back where it was before.  "I feel safe with you," Eddie says, his voice low and secretive.  "I trust you, you know?   More than anyone else."   

 

Richie moves his hand, clasping Eddie's and sighing when Eddie laces their fingers together.  "I trust you, too."   

 

Some minutes go by, mostly quiet, with only the sound of their combined breathing filling the darkness.  Richie is so warm and comfortable with Eddie's solid weight resting against him, and he's so relieved that Eddie feels a little better, at least.  It's the most he can hope for in this fucked up situation, and if there was more he could do, he'd do it all in a heartbeat.   

 

Richie is lost in thought, his eyelids beginning to feel heavy again, drooping over his blurred vision.  He hardly notices as Eddie adjusts, shifting closer, sliding his leg further between Richie's- until Eddie tips his head back just slightly, breathing out over Richie's neck, and then there's damp heat against Richie's skin, right under Richie's jaw, and- Richie gasps lightly when he feels Eddie's lips on him, a soft touch that turns into a soft kiss, and then Eddie's mouth opens up, just a bit, and-  _fuck_ , Eddie finds the one fucking spot that drives him nuts, that gets his blood pumping harder through him, makes him melt into whoever discovers it.  He bites his lip to hold back an embarrassing noise he feels bubbling up in his throat, then fucking Eddie does it  _again_ , and this time Richie can't hold back; he groans, tilting his head back against the pillows, and he has to stop himself from clutching at Eddie, even though he wants to flip them over and crush their mouths together, get Eddie on his back and get on top of him, and kiss him until their both gasping and clinging to one another desperately.   

 

"Eds?"  Richie asks, and he's fucking panicking now, his heart pounding away in his chest as he waits for Eddie to reply- but Eddie doesn't, and after a few tense moments of Richie imagining the worst- that this really is a dream- he hears the sound of Eddie's soft, quiet snoring.  He can't believe this- Eddie's  _asleep_?  How can he just drop right off after doing something like  _that_?  

 

Richie keeps as still as possible as he tries to relax enough to fall back asleep.  Eventually he starts to drift in and out of consciousness,  dreaming about Eddie's little kiss, imagining he keeps feeling it happen over and over and  _over_ again.   

 

: : : : 

 

If it wasn't already hard to tear his attention away from Eddie, it's fucking impossible now.   

 

It's bad enough when Richie wakes up to Eddie's alarm ringing, groaning at the loud, annoying sound as Eddie groggily reaches out to his nightstand to shut it off, and he’s got an arm around Eddie’s waist, clutching him close to his chest, and he can’t bring himself to let go.  When he opens his eyes, and he sees Eddie's hair all mussed up, one arm thrown up and over his head, his chest rising and falling, he's not sure how to even get up and get going, because all he wants is to stay right there, and keep watching every little twitch of Eddie's nose, every flutter his eyelashes make.  When Eddie is awake and getting dressed, Richie wants to ask if he's okay, if he wants to ditch school and just play video games all day, maybe take off and go do something again- but he already knows Eddie will refuse.  He's far too responsible.  Richie has to settle for a muttered, "You okay?" when Eddie comes back from the bathroom smelling of mint and something citrus-y.   

 

"Yeah," Eddie replies, the hint of a smile on his lips as he pulls a hooded sweater over his head and grabs a scarf, some gloves, and then finally his backpack.  "Let's go."    

 

At school it's even worse.  When they're surrounded by their friends before the bell for first period rings, all Richie can do is keep his eyes on Eddie, watching for any little droop in his smile, or distant look in his eyes- something that will clue him in to what he's thinking or feeling.  There's nothing to signal that he's anything other than content, or at least  _not_  upset at the moment, so they all go their separate ways, and Richie worries through most of his classes, not paying much attention, even getting scolded a few times when his fidgeting gets especially bad.  He can't sit still through Government, which he has with Stan, his leg bouncing up and down, eager for the fucking bell to ring so he can get to lunch and make sure that Eddie is fine.  At one point he gets so bad that Stan scoots his desk over, and places his wide, settling palm on Richie's knee, giving him a look that says-  _fucking stop and talk to me after class._    

 

Richie relaxes a little bit after that, but he doesn't tell Stan anything when the bell rings, he just goes straight to the cafeteria, catching Eddie as he's standing in a long, ridiculous line for whatever slop is being served that day.  He comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around Eddie's shoulders, ignoring the looks he's getting from some of his peers.  Fuck them- they don't know what the hell is going on.  He can tell Eddie appreciates it, by the sigh he exhales and the way his body sags back into him.   

 

When they sit down at their designated table, in their usual seats, Richie sits as close as he possibly can to Eddie, practically draping himself all over his side as Eddie slowly chews on his poor excuse of a lunch- some mashed potatoes and chicken abomination.  Mike is talking about the strays he and Stan are taking care of, and how Bev has officially taken them in, and he can't possibly love her any more.

 

"Seriously, babe," Mike says, putting his arm over her shoulders and kissing her hair.  "I know it all depended on your aunt saying yes, but I love you for even  _wanting_  to take them in."   

 

Stan nods.  "Yeah.  I wanted to take Dr. Frank-N-Furter, but my dad said he can't deal with all the hair.  Very selfish, I think."   

 

Eddie smiles, adding that he would have taken them in, too, if he didn't have to deal with his mom, and Richie marvels at how giving, and selfless, and  _kind_  Eddie is.  He's got every reason to think of only himself, and worry about Sam, and being alone in the house (before Richie invited himself to stay over, that is) yet he's worried about a couple stray dogs, too?  There's no way that Eddie is even real.  

 

"On a fun note,"  Bev says, interrupting Richie's thoughts and blushing as Mike tries to catch her in a kiss.  She giggles and shoves his face away, saying, "So we have Wednesday off, right?  I wanted to have an anti-Thanksgiving party.  Like on... Tuesday."    

 

"Anti-Thanksgiving?"  Richie asks.  "Seriously?"   

 

Stan frowns. "What for?"   

 

"Well, some of us are gonna have a shitty holiday, right?"  She begins, going on when they all nod.  "And there's a few people around here, too, who I know are gonna have a bad time next week.  So, you know, why not have a party?  A small one, you know?  Us, a few other people.  My aunt is visiting some friends of hers in Portland and she said it's fine, as long as the cops don't get called."   

 

Richie really likes Bev's aunt.  "So... who else, though?  Not Josh Dickwad, right?"   

 

Bev snorts, then starts to list off about a dozen people or so who don't sound bad at all.  Actually, it turns out each of the Losers talk to them, and Richie has some classes with some of them.  They all agree it sounds like a good idea, and plan to meet up over the weekend to decide on food and drinks, music, and whether or not it's too over the top to actually make a turkey dinner.  Stan thinks it is, but Bev insists she wants to do it. Richie's just glad that Eddie seems to like the idea, as he smiles and nods along while Stan and Bev debate about the turkey dinner.    

 

Since it's Friday, Eddie has to work at the library for a few hours, so after school Richie sticks around when they get there, following Eddie around as he shelves and picks up books left behind by others, bitching that people really need to make a fucking decision before walking off and leaving more work for him.  Richie loves when Eddie goes off on a rant- he almost dies laughing every time.  There's just something about the way Eddie swears and tries to mimic other voices that he just can't handle.  Mrs. Starrett even overhears Eddie going off, but instead of scolding them like Richie's expecting, she winks, says lowly, "I've worked here for twenty years, dear.  I know- I  _know._ "  It's fucking hilarious, and Eddie has to shush Richie as he snorts and starts cracking up, drawing attention from a few people close by.    

 

They leave the library around seven, and Eddie has the brilliant idea of picking up pizza instead of cooking.  Richie pays, Eddie protests, claiming it was _his_ idea, _his_ house, and _he_ should be the one to buy it. Richie waves him off and carries the pizza to the car, and even opens Eddie's door for him, smirking when Eddie blushes and looks away, dropping into his seat and hiding his face under his hood.  Richie puts on Metallica for the drive back, flinging his hair around as he sings to "Fade to Black", drumming on the steering wheel and trying his hardest to make Eddie laugh.  He switches to his favorite radio station when they are close to Eddie's house, whooping when "Gimme All Your Lovin'" comes on, and he belts it out, singing the lyrics in his English Guy voice, then the Pancho Villa voice, all while holding his hand out to Eddie, full-on serenading him until Eddie is gasping from laughing so hard.   

 

They calm down when they get to the house, sobering as they go through and check every room, every closet and crevice, finding nothing out of place, no window open like it was earlier in the week- nothing out of the ordinary. Richie can see the tension bleed out of Eddie's shoulders as they get some plates and pile thick slices of pizza on top.  It's nice- so different from last night, and he can only hope that things stay calm like this for a while longer.  For Eddie's sake- he, of all people, deserves to relax and enjoy himself.   

 

They sit in the living room, parking themselves on the couch and switching on the TV.  There's some reruns of  _Who's The Boss_  playing, and they silently decide to watch, Eddie chuckling at every stupid little joke, reaching over and stealing the pepperonis off the pizza that Richie picks off.  He likes the stuff, but not when his pizza is _drowning_ in it.  Gross.

 

"What do you think of Bev's party idea?"  Eddie asks out of nowhere, startling Richie a little bit as another episode ends and the cheesy end credits theme starts playing.  "I don't know how I feel about other people being there."   

 

Richie shrugs- he doesn't really care about that, but he knows Eddie's going to let it bother him if he thinks about it too much.  "Everyone she was talking about sounds okay, though.  I mean- you know she wouldn't invite just _anyone_."   

 

"Yeah, I know."   

 

"We don't have to go if you don't want to.  Bev will understand."   

 

Eddie glances at him, a curious furrow between his brows as he sets his empty plate down on the table.  "But  _you_  want to go, right?"   

 

Richie nods, and says quickly,  "Well, yeah, but not if you're not gonna be there."  He wants to slap himself for how honest and desperate he sounds, but Eddie just nods, and then stops on a channel that's playing the cheesiest fucking movie Richie has ever seen.  "No!  Come on, Eds- anything but this!"   

 

Eddie glares at him, turning up the volume and setting the remote down.  "Shut up- what's wrong with  _Say Anything_?"   

 

"It's just-"  Richie groans, piling his plate on top of Eddie's and sitting back against the couch.  "It's lame- and come on, shit doesn't work that way."   

 

"What do you mean?"   

 

"It's just dumb, even for a love story."   

 

Pulling his legs up on the couch, Eddie sits back and gets comfortable. "Too fucking bad.  I wanna watch it."  

 

And so they do, and Richie mocks it the whole time- because if he doesn't, he's going to have to admit that the stupid movie is actually kind of cute, and reminds him a little too much of how Eddie makes him feel.  When the main characters have sex, Richie shifts restlessly, shooting a quick glance in Eddie's direction, unable to stop himself from imagining leaning over and pressing his lips to the side of Eddie's throat, just like Eddie did to him last night.  He knows that Eddie was half-asleep, probably dreaming, and most likely doesn't even remember doing it- but Richie can't forget it.  It's been in the back of his mind all day, sneaking in his thoughts, adding to his already restless mood.   

 

When the boombox is up in the air on the screen, and that stupid song is playing, and Eddie is watching intently, with some sort of longing in his eyes, Richie can't take it.  He shakes his head, says irritably, "I don't even know how he expected to get anywhere with that boring ass song."   

 

Eddie looks at him strangely.  "What's wrong with the song?"   

 

"It _sucks_ ,"  Richie states, shaking his head as the scene ends.  "I mean, there are so many good songs out there.  Much better than fucking 'In Your Eyes', I mean- even Madonna is better than this shit."   

 

"Hey- Madonna's okay, asshole."   

 

"Yeah, that's my point."  Richie doesn't know why he's suddenly so agitated- maybe it's because he's tired, and he feels hopeless, and he wants Eddie so much, and all of his feelings are suddenly rushing up to the surface, and he's not sure how much more of this he can take.  "There's just better songs out there, to tell someone how you feel, or that you miss them, or want them, or- fuck, even  _need_  them."   

 

Eddie isn't saying anything, so Richie turns to look at him, and he finds Eddie staring at him with a mixture of hope and disbelief. But beneath that, as their eyes stay locked, Richie notices that he also seems a little scared, a little hesitant- like he wants to say something, but he's not sure if he should. After a short while, when Richie is sure he isn’t going to say a thing, Eddie finally asks, "What songs would _you_ use?" and, really, it's such an innocent question. It should be, anyway- but Richie's done dancing around this, and he's dying to take a chance, because if he keeps waiting around, someone else is going to figure out just how amazing Eddie is, and maybe Eddie will like them, and he'll fall in love with them, and Richie will never know if he ever really had a shot.   

 

Swallowing, Richie says, "'Love Song,' and 'Open Arms', 'Amanda'," and he's saying it so quietly, that he's not even sure Eddie can hear him properly, but he goes on, listing all the songs he used on that fucking mixtape he made for Eddie, that he knows Eddie has listened to several times- he's caught him humming some of the songs before, and Richie knows he must have heard them on the tape, because some he picked are not Eddie's taste at all.  And Eddie just keeps staring at him, his eyes widening, as Richie goes down the list that he knows by heart.  He picked them all for different reasons- "Wish You Were Here" because of that fucking chorus, "My Girl" because Eddie is his sunshine all damn year, "Sweet Child O' Mine" for Eddie's calming presence, because when Richie is near him, and he feels like his head is going to explode, all he does is take one long look into Eddie's eyes, and all his thoughts settle down.   

 

He finishes off with "Take My Breath Away", and after he's done, and he feels like his stomach is going to twist around the rest of his insides, he lets his head fall back, looking up at the ceiling and praying Eddie doesn't flat out tell him to fuck off.  God- what is he thinking?  All the little signs, the flirting- the fucking  _motel_  last weekend- it can't mean anything more than friendship.  Eddie can do so much better than him- why would he waste his time on someone as pathetic as Richie?

 

Just as he's considering running out the front door and burying his head in the fucking grass, Eddie says, quietly, "Why did you make me that tape?"  And his voice is shaking a little bit, but Richie can feel Eddie's eyes boring in to him as he adds, "Tell me the truth.  No bullshitting."     

 

And that's it- Richie can't lie anymore.  He doesn't even want to- he's sick of pretending he's not in love with Eddie.  He chuckles to himself, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling, studying a water spot from an old leak in the roof.  "It was just a tape, at first.  I just wanted to make you one with shit you actually like- not like I usually do."  He remembers how much he bothered Bev, Mike and Stan over each song, calling all of them and asking if this one was too stupid, or if that one was too much- and they were all honest with him.  "I listened to all of them a lot of times," he says, his fingers clutching the fabric under him.  "And I noticed that most of them were love songs, and I just- you know, I just thought that I might as well make you a fucking confessional.  I mean- I already know how it is- nothing's going to come of this.  You're _way_ too good for me."   

 

"Rich..."  

 

Richie doesn't look at him, dropping his head down to stare at the table instead, piled with paperwork, their dirty plates, nail polish remover- a bunch of shit that doesn't matter.  "That's why I picked all of them, because I..."  Richie swallows past the thickness in his throat, the churning of his stomach, the shaking in his hands, and he wants to hide his face at the rawness in his voice as he says, "I want you _so_ much, Eds.  You don't- you don't even know.  It's killing me."   

 

"Don't do that,"  Eddie snaps suddenly, drawing Richie's eyes to him, and- fuck, Eddie looks like he's going cry, or throw up, or maybe even hit him.  His voice is unsteady as he says, "It's not funny.  Don't- don't make it a joke!"   

 

"I'm not," Richie retorts, sitting up straight.  "Why would you think I'm joking?"   

 

"You joke about  _everything_!"   

 

"No- no, not this, Eds," Richie says, and he moves closer to him, hesitant as he reaches out to place a hand on his shoulder.  "I  _want_  you- I  _need_  you."   

 

Eddie unfolds his legs, and his eyes are glistening, shining with pure, unchecked emotion.  "You mean it?"  Eddie whispers, the smallest note of hope in his voice, and the timidness there- and the tiny bit of doubt sneaking in to his tone- is Richie's undoing.

 

"I _do_ ,"  Richie says desperately, moving forward.  "I mean it-" and he cradles Eddie's jaw in one hand, leaning in, his heart pounding almost painfully in his chest, and he finally,  _finally_  gets to feel Eddie's lips against his.  It's short, and soft, and _so_ chaste, and when he pulls back a bit, he opens his eyes, and his chest swells with so much feeling- he has no idea how he's able to contain it all.   

 

Eddie's eyes are open, heavy lidded, and his deep, consuming gaze is fixed on Richie's mouth; Eddie breathes out, blinking a few times as one hand moves up and grasps the front of Richie's shirt.  "You mean it," he says, voice filled with disbelief.   

 

Richie chuckles, pulling Eddie closer to him, and he flushes at the gentleness he can hear in his own voice.  "I do.  I want you- I, you don't know how much I care about you."   

 

"I..."  Eddie trails off, and his other hand is on Richie's shoulder, tugging him in.  "I want you, too."   

 

"Thank fuck," Richie says, and then he can't hold back any longer.  He dives in- and he's kissed other people before, dirty and quick, with tongue and teeth- but this is different,  _better_ , and it's  _nothing_  like any of the others before it.  He doesn't know what to do with his hands, afraid to touch and ruin everything, but he just wants to feel _Eddie_ under his palms- all of him- his skin and his warmth, and his clothes- so he tugs on Eddie's sweater, pulling him close, sucking his bottom lip as softly as he can, gripping the soft cotton in his hand.  And he can feel how new this is to Eddie, as Eddie tries to keep up with him, moving his mouth under Richie's, his hands roaming over his chest and his shoulders, searching for a place to hold.  It's so fucking adorable- and Richie's heart is pounding as he slides his hand back, under Eddie's curls, to grip the back of his neck  and change the angle of their mouths, and he kisses Eddie deeper.   

 

Eddie makes a sound- a breathless thing, as Richie uses his tongue to tease at Eddie's lips, and he can feel Eddie's fingers clutch at him clumsily, and he's positive Eddie doesn't know what he's doing- how can he?  He's so innocent, and inexperienced, and it's the cutest thing Richie's ever seen.  He wants to show Eddie how good this can be, how deep in his heart Eddie's embedded, and he just can't- he _can't_ hold back.  He's waited so damn long to have this.   

 

Their mouths break apart for a moment and Eddie is gasping, staring up at Richie with wide, wanting eyes- and Richie moves forward, pushing Eddie down on the couch, kissing Eddie's chin, and jaw, and moving lower still as he grasps Eddie's thighs, running one hand over the rough denim, squeezing the muscles there and pulling one leg up and over his hip.   

 

Richie slides down, between Eddie's legs, and he can't believe he's allowed to do this- to  _have_  this.  Eddie is holding on to him tightly, breathing hard as Richie sucks kisses over the soft flesh on his neck, and f _uck_ \- Eddie tastes so good, his salty skin somehow sweet, and his warmth is so different than the other times Richie has been horizontal with some nameless, faceless person.  He pulls back a moment, kisses Eddie's parted mouth, nuzzling their noses together- and he's not sure how he hasn't fainted with how much his mind is spinning, and how much the pit of his stomach swoops repeatedly.    

 

Their eyes meet as Eddie looks up at him, and Eddie's throat bobs- he's nervous, and he covers his face with his palms, sighing as he catches his breath, forcing himself to breath slow and even through his nose.     

 

"What's wrong?"  Richie asks, kissing the back of Eddie's hands, his cheek, his chin.  "Did I do something wrong?"   

 

Eddie shakes his head, lowering his hands and placing them on Richie's chest.  "I'm just- um, I feel really, uh," he pauses, visibly collecting himself.  "I'm-  _god_ \- it's, it's a little overwhelming.  I've never done this before."   

 

Richie smiles; fuck- can Eddie get any cuter?  "Do you want to stop?"   

 

"No!"  Eddie exclaims, and he wraps his arms around Richie's neck, pulling him down until their chests are pressed together, their mouths inches apart again, and Eddie breathes out, "No, I don't wanna stop."   

 

"You're sure?"   

 

" _Yes._ "      

 

Richie grins, and he leans in, kissing him softly.  "Tell me if you feel uncomfortable, okay?"   

 

Eddie nods quickly, lifting his head, and he misses Richie's lips, kissing just under his nose, and Richie can't help but chuckle when Eddie huffs in frustration.  He doesn't give Eddie a chance to chastise himself, though, leaning down and sucking on his top lip, biting down gently- and Eddie must like that- his breath hitches, and he grasps Richie's shoulders, fingers digging in as he opens his mouth and sighs.   

 

"Want you so bad,"  Richie says into Eddie's ear, ecstatic when Eddie shivers under him.  "I've wanted to do this for _so_ long- so damn long, Eds."  He attacks Eddie's neck again, dragging his mouth down, down, tugging the neck of his sweater to the side to get at the skin hiding from his eyes.  He's imagined this so many ways, so many times, but he can't believe his mind never prepared him for just how damn wonderful the reality is.  In his daydreams he can never breathe in the scent of Eddie's skin, or feel Eddie's hair tickling his temples, the warmth of Eddie's body- why did he waste so much time fantasizing, when anything his brain has come up with is _nothing_ compared to the real thing? 

 

Richie's sucking on a spot under Eddie's ear, and he's so absorbed in the wonderful sounds Eddie is making, in the way he's mumbling Richie's name under his breath, that he doesn't realize it right away when Eddie starts pushing at his shoulders, until he says, "Rich, wait," and Richie stops what he's doing, sits up a little bit, looking down at Eddie's troubled expression.   

 

"What's wrong?"  He asks, and he thinks, for a terrifying moment, that maybe Eddie has changed his mind, and how is he supposed to go back now, after this?  "What did I do?"   

 

"I heard something."   

 

It takes Richie a moment to process what he's saying.  "You heard- you heard what?"  

 

Eddie's harsh breaths start to calm, and he looks into Richie's eyes.  "I _heard_ something.  Upstairs."  

 

Fuck.  Richie strains his ears, listening past the blood pumping through him, and it's silent through the house- only the TV making any kind of noise- but then-  

 

Music starts playing from above, and it's- it's that fucking song, "Every Breath You Take", and it sounds like it's got to be coming from Eddie's room.  "What the fuck?"   

 

"Someone's up there," Eddie whispers, and they both look up at the ceiling, listening for any sign of movement, and Richie's already up and on his feet, holding out his hand and pulling Eddie up to stand beside him.   

 

"I'll check," Richie says, and he heads for the stairs, grabbing the closest thing he can use as a weapon- an umbrella, hanging on the banister, and Eddie grabs on to his shirt, pulling him back and away from the staircase.   

 

"Richie, no,"  Eddie says, and he looks far more scared than Richie's seen him in a long time.  "Please, we can call the police- I don't want you to-"  

 

"You said before you don't want the police involved."   

 

Eddie groans, looking up at the darkness worriedly.  "I know, _I know_!  But if it's Sam, I- I don't want him to hurt you."   

 

Richie takes Eddie's hand, squeezing it briefly.  "It'll be fine, okay?  I'm not gonna get-"   

 

There's a scraping upstairs- like a chair, or table, being dragged across a hard floor- and Richie hurries up, taking the stairs two at at time, reaching Eddie's room and stepping inside.  The window is wide open, the boombox playing on the desk, where Eddie left it, and there's a folded up piece of paper set down in front of one of the speakers, along with an empty cassette case.   

 

Eddie comes in then, and he looks around- that's when Richie notices the rest of the room; the bed is a mess, the blankets thrown on the floor, some shredded, and there's books spread out all over the carpet, with pages torn out, the spines broken.  The closet door is open, too, and there's a whole pile of clothes all over the ground, and just like the blankets, there are some that are ruined, destroyed, like someone drove a knife right through the fabric, and- there's a weird stench, too, one that Richie doesn't want to study too closely.   

 

Eddie picks up the folded sheet of paper on the desk, his hands trembling as he opens it up; Richie comes up behind him, leaning over his shoulder to see what it says.  In a bold, angry scrawl, it reads;  

 

_Eddie-_

_Since you didn't like my first one so much, have another mix.  And just so you know, I mean it, too.  Every single song- every single word._

_-Sam_

 

Eddie drops the note on the floor, turning in a circle to take in the mess of his things, and Richie wants to hit something- that fucking bastard _watched_ them- maybe from the stairs, or a closet, and he listened to _everything_ they said to each other-

Eddie bends down and picks up something off the floor, and Richie notices the long, unwound ribbon at his feet, surrounded by shiny pieces of broken plastic.  Turning around, Eddie holds out the remains of the tape- _his_ tape- _the_ fucking tape- and the case is torn apart, broken,  _For Eds, Love Rich_ cracked and shattered down the center.

He's so angry- and he's trying hard not to be, because this is Eddie's room, Eddie's space, Eddie's privacy that has been invaded- 

And that’s Eddie's tipping point. 

Richie watches helplessly as Eddie growls, dropping the destroyed pieces to the floor as he spins back around and shoves all of his belongings off his desk.  The boombox, his desk lamp, some old books that were a gift from Ben, textbooks, - and it all goes crashing to the carpet.  Something glass-probably the light bulb- shatters, and the boombox makes a loud cracking sound, and Richie is sure that the old thing is done for- and Eddie isn't finished.  He tears down the shelf holding all of his tapes, kicks his desk, and he knocks it over on his side, shouting and swearing and-

And then he just stops.  

 

Eddie is breathing heavily, standing there in front of all of his broken things, and as he starts shaking, Richie gathers him up in his arms, and Eddie clings to him, winding his arms tightly around Richie’s middle, burying his face in his chest.  Richie holds him, and he strokes Eddie’s hair, and all the happiness he felt when they were together downstairs vanishes, and his heart breaks as Eddie cries. 

Richie doesn’t let him go for a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like it????  
> I know Eddie cries a lot- sorry, but I think it's warranted in this situation.  
> I'm starting to use my tumblr more- if you want to follow me over there, or check out the Reddie stuff I'll be posting over there- my tumblr name is:  
> talkreddietome.tumblr.com  
> Sorry for any errors- just point them out if they are really bothersome and I'll fix them. I am SO done with this chapter.  
> Thank you so much for reading!  
> :D


	6. Stand By Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much once again for the wonderful feedback from last chapter. I know it's taken me forever to reply, and I'm sorry about that. I've been letting writing stress me out instead of enjoying it, and I'm constantly comparing my stuff and my writing to everyone else, and I get so discouraged. So I'm taking a step back and letting it come naturally instead.  
> So I am wondering something- does it bother any of you guys that Richie is seventeen in this? I was thinking about changing his age to eighteen, but I like the idea of Richie being younger than Eddie, so he can make stupid 'old-man' jokes, because you know damn well that he would. I know I haven't stuck with their real ages and birthdays, because Eddie's birthday in the book is actually in November, but I got a Virgo vibe when I watched the movie, which is why I chose September 18th (and funny that Jack Dylan Grazer happens to be a Virgo, which I had no fucking idea before I picked the day).  
> So PLEASE tell me how you feel after reading this chapter. I think I'm just letting stupid drama on tumblr get to me. I mean, seventeen is very close to being an adult, and it's not like they're thirteen or fourteen in this, you know? If it bothers anyone I will change it :) Also, I don't think I need the underage warning- maybe? Maybe you guys can let me know what you think.  
> And if there are any mistakes I am sorry!!

The elation of the kiss is completely gone.   

 

There are bruises that will hurt for days on Eddie's hands, and he presses his fingers against them, seated at the kitchen table between Mike and Stan as Richie and Bev clean up his room.  He wants to do it himself, but Richie already instructed Mike to keep him downstairs, so he knows it's useless to try and get up and help.  If he does, Mike can physically lift him up and make him stay, so what's the point?  Besides, he's not even sure he can look at the mess without losing it again.   

 

Stan called the police, even though Richie told him, repeatedly, that it's not a good idea.  Eddie doesn't want to deal with them, but he appreciates Stan's concern and good intentions.  They are on their way, but it's been a while- nearly an hour, maybe.  Stan, Mike and Bev arrived quickly after Richie called each of them, and Eddie hasn't exactly been watching the clock.   

 

They already looked around the house, and Eddie was shocked to find the backdoor open, when he knows that he locked it.  Between his paranoia and Richie, there's no possible way it would have been missed.  Mike is the one who looked it over thoroughly, and he confirmed that there was no sign of force, which means Sam must have picked the lock, or maybe something else.  Eddie's not sure, and he doesn't want to think about it.   

 

He's not speaking, just listening as Stan and Mike talk about things they can do to help secure the house better, and whether or not they can get it all past Eddie's mom.  It's probably impossible, but Eddie doesn't want to stay here another night without any kind of extra protection. 

 

"We can get some boards to put in the windows," Mike says, one arm resting over the back of Eddie's chair, a comfort he needs more than he wants to admit.  "I can cut them down at my house.  Maybe get a deadbolt, and a chain."   

 

"And we can put a lock on your bedroom door," Stan adds.  "A stronger one.  Or two, even.  A bolt on the inside, and one on the outside, for when you're not home."   

 

The police arrive, and Eddie is immediately wary when they start to question him and his answers only seem to make them raise their brows doubtfully.  Richie stands beside him, one hand low on his back, as he tells them about Sam's phone calls, and the tape, and the mess of his clothing earlier in the week- he doesn't tell them about the theater, though.  Judging by the looks they keep shooting him, he's sure it's not going to help anything.   

 

"And you're  _sure_  it was this guy..." one of the officers, the shorter one, glances down at his notepad, tracing his pen over something Eddie can't see.  "Sam- Sam Ellis?"   

 

Eddie nods.  "Yeah, I'm sure." 

 

"And how do you know him?" 

 

"He was my tutor," Eddie says, hesitantly, glancing up at Richie beside him.   

 

"Your  _tutor_?"  The taller one asks, hands on his hips as he takes a sweeping look around the front yard.   

 

"Yeah,” Eddie replies, and he shifts a little closer to Richie, holding back the urge to take his hand.  "Not for very long, maybe a month."   

 

The two glance at each other, and Eddie is no mind-reader, but he doesn't need to be to see that there's something he said that they aren't buying.  After a short pause, the shorter one says, "We'll talk to him.  Do you have a phone number where we can reach him?"   

 

After they leave, Eddie feels incredibly ignorant- what was the point of them even showing up?  They barely even checked the house.  Mike and Stan did a better job of checking everything.  All he wants is to be left alone; to cower in solitude as he always does, curl up and forget about everything.  He won't get a chance to, anyway, because he's not staying here- he'll be staying the night at Richie's, and Richie already has an overnight bag packed for him and ready to go.   

 

"You can come back when your mom gets here,"  Richie tells him, alone in his room, as Eddie takes a few minutes to gather his thoughts while seated on the bed.   

 

"I'm coming back tomorrow," he says, and when Richie opens his mouth to protest, he lifts his palm up to stop him before he can get started.  "Mike and Stan had some ideas about making the place a little safer, so I'm going to get some things and I'll just... I don't know, do it all tomorrow in the day."   

 

"I'm staying with you," Richie says, his hand on Eddie's waist, his mouth close to his ear.  "You're not staying here by yourself."   

 

Eddie sighs, says "Okay," and then they head downstairs to leave, meeting Bev, Mike and Stan out front, all huddled together, shivering in the chilly, November air.  Bev hugs him the second he's at the bottom of the porch steps, and she doesn't let go until they all agree to meet up tomorrow at Mike's.   

 

Once the house is all locked up and Eddie's bag is in Richie's car, they leave the dark neighborhood behind, and Eddie stays quiet on the short drive to the Tozier house, his mind circling around the single thought,  _What am I going to do?_  And he has no answer, no solution, no hope of ever getting Sam out of his life.  All he wants is to think about the kiss he and Richie shared, and how incredible it was to finally find out what Richie  _really_  feels like- and he's so damn happy about it- but there's no way he can enjoy it.  Not now, not with the knowledge that Sam witnessed the entire thing.   

 

As soon as they're in Richie's room, Eddie quickly gets ready for bed, and he's not sure why, but he can't seem to meet Richie's eyes as he changes into a pair of sweats and sits down on the edge of the comforter.  God, he wants to, though.  He wants Richie's arms around him, Richie's lips on his skin, Richie's hands on his body, touching him the way he did earlier.  And why is he even thinking about this?  He should be worried about going back home tomorrow, whether Richie is there or not, but he can't stop wanting  _more_.  It's a little bit alarming that after only one, intense kiss, he's already aching for more of the same.   

 

Richie is in his sleep clothes, and Eddie sees his bony, bare feet out of the corner of his eye as he approaches him.  The bed sags as Richie sits beside him, and he holds his breath, waiting to see what Richie is going to do, or say.  He's so damn nervous now that he has a moment to feel it, and his hands are shaking slightly when Richie takes one in his larger palms, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss over his sore knuckles.  Eddie watches him, their eyes meeting and holding.   

 

A smile tugs at Richie's lips.  "Hey," he says quietly, and Eddie is pulled into a warm embrace, Richie's long arms enveloping him as he winds his own around Richie's middle.  "I'm sorry about all this."   

 

Eddie doesn't know how to respond, but he moves as close as he can get without climbing on top of him.  After a few moments, he says, "I just want to go to bed and forget about everything."   

 

Richie snickers.  " _Everything_?"   

 

"Well, no, not  _everything_."   

 

"Hmm," Richie hums, and then he's touching Eddie's face, his thumb brushing over his bottom lip.  "Scared me for a second there."   

 

Eddie thinks he's prepared for the kiss Richie lays on him, but he's not.  At all.  His heart skips a little in his chest, and his abdomen starts to ache in the way it usually does whenever Richie touches him.  He feels a little lightheaded, breath staggered as Richie slots their mouths together.  His mind stops spinning around all his troubles, each one falling away with every moment their lips remain connected, every movement that Richie leads him to, until Eddie finds himself on his back, pressed down as Richie lowers his body on top of him.  He opens his eyes, and it's only for a second, but it's long enough for him to catch the emotion in Richie's gaze.    

 

Eddie feels his body yearning for this, for more, for Richie to touch him and give him something he needs, something he wants- but he's not sure what it is.  He pulls Richie down by his hair, kissing him messily, uncertain in every little thing that he's doing.  And his nerves don't overcome him, because Richie responds amazingly, and Eddie can't believe that this is actually happening.  Richie is  _kissing_  him,  _touching_  him, his hands roaming over his clothes, one bunched in his sweats, over his hip, the other in his shirt, over his side.  And Eddie feels the desperation as Richie changes the angle of their mouths and kisses him deeper, tongue swiping over his lips, and it makes something in his lower body spark to life- 

 

He pulls back, a little dizzy, and he blinks several times, staring up into Richie's magnified eyes.  "Rich," he says, somehow, through the dryness in his throat.  "St-Stop."   

 

Richie stares down at him, but he does as he's told, sitting up and running one hand through Eddie's hair.  "What is it?  Did I do something you don't like?"   

 

Eddie isn't sure how to explain it, but it's more than he can handle right now, after everything that's already happened tonight.  "No, you didn't, I just- it's a little-"  

 

"Too much?"   

 

Nodding, Eddie closes his eyes, turning his head away and covering his face with his palms.  "I'm sorry," he says, voice muffled, and he feels a little stupid to be overwhelmed so easily.  "I just- I can't."   

 

Richie moves away, settling next to him and wrapping Eddie up in his arms.  "Hey, it's fine, you don't need to be sorry for anything."   

 

Eddie frowns.  "But... don't you want to..." 

 

Holding him closer, Richie drops a kiss on his chin, his cheek, then his brow.  " _Of course_  I want to.  More than you know."   

 

"Then why-" 

 

Richie cuts him off with a press of his lips, pulling away almost instantly.  "It's not about that stuff.  It's more than that."   

 

Eddie knows he's telling the truth, but there's some lingering doubt in his mind, and he's not sure why.  He ignores it, and they both get under the covers once the light is off, together.  Eddie has no chance of hiding the grin that stretches over his lips when Richie wraps an arm around him.  It feels wonderful to have Richie up against him, and for the first time in a long time, he's able to relax, and drift off to sleep with little difficulty.   

 

: : : :  

 

The rain is coming down hard by the time Eddie is up and ready to go, waiting on Richie as he quickly chokes down a bowl of cereal and some toast.  It's almost eleven, and though it's Saturday, the roads are empty due to the storm rolling in. 

 

They have to go to Bangor to get some boards, and so Eddie is Richie's second pair of eyes on the way, peering through the downpour as Richie slowly goes down the lonely roads.  He feels much better this morning.  Maybe it has something to do with waking up warm and safe, or the kisses Richie gave him while still in bed, even though Eddie tried to push him away and hide his disgusting morning breath.  Richie didn't care- he just kept kissing him hard, until Eddie was breathless and stopped him.   

 

It's so strange to be able to do this, he thinks, as he and Richie hurry through the store and buy the boards, locks, and a few extra tools.  They can't be open in public, of course, but when they get back in the car Richie kisses him sweetly, and the rain washing over the windows hides them from view.  He's so used to wanting Richie, that it almost feels like he's dreaming in a fog.  Maybe he is asleep, and he's still in bed two nights ago, and everything that happened is only in his head.   

 

They get to Mike's in one piece, and they run into the garage with their purchases, Bev and Mike helping with the boards and tools.  It's not completely dry, some spots puddling where the roof is leaking, but there's plenty of room to start cutting up the boards.  They have to guess how long the spaces are in Eddie's windows, but Stan helps estimate, using the windows in Mike's house.  They come up with several pieces of varying lengths, all for him to try once he gets back home.  After working for a couple hours, they start to discuss Bev's party, so they head inside to get some food.  Apparently, Mike's grandfather is making clam chowder, and Eddie's stomach growls when they all step inside and the smell hits his nose.   

 

Mike pulls him aside in the entryway, saying he wants to talk to Eddie for a minute.  They let the others go on ahead into the kitchen, and once they are out of ear shot, Eddie turns to Mike to listen.   

 

"I think you should learn how to shoot," Mike tells him, and though he's standing tall and certain, there's a worried tint to his voice.  "All this stuff with Sam, you know, I don't want anything to happen to you."   

 

Eddie's eyes dart away, and he rubs one hand up and down his arm.  He's never even touched a gun.  "I don't know, Mike.  I just- I don't think I'd be any good at it, anyway."  

 

"That's why I can teach you," Mike says, his eyes as serious as Eddie has ever seen them.  "I taught Bev and Richie.  Stan needs to learn, too.  I know they can be scary, but they can save your life."   

 

"But I don't even have one."   

 

"That's fine, you can get one,” Mike goes on, placing his hand on Eddie's shoulder and squeezing, a reassuring gesture.  "If you're not comfortable with it, I understand.  But I think we'd all feel better if you had some way to defend yourself.  Just in case."  

 

Eddie agrees to learn to shoot, and they decide to get started once the rain lets up, probably right after Thanksgiving.  He's not completely okay with it, but he can't deny that Mike is right.  He's not confident in his ability to physically over-power anyone, and if he freezes up the way he usually does whenever Sam says or does something to him, it will make it that much easier to hurt him.   

 

He sits beside Richie, slowly starting to slurp his clam chowder as Bev chats with Mike's grandfather.  Under the table he feels Richie's hand on his, his thumb sliding over the inside of his wrist.  No one is paying attention, and when Richie slides their fingers together, he grips him back, hiding his smile by looking down at his bowl.   

 

They leave Mike's sometime after five and head back to town, and the second they get back to the house Eddie starts working on the locks.  Between he and Richie, it doesn't take very long for them to install a stronger dead bolt on the front door, in his bedroom, and a whole new lock on the outside of his bedroom.  He doesn't like it at all.  Instead of feeling safer, it makes him even more paranoid, and he knows he's going to constantly worry about each new thing in the house; did he latch this lock, wedge that board in the window- did he flip the dead bolt before heading up to bed?   

 

He's exhausted and ready for bed by the time eight rolls around, and he's not even hungry.  Richie eats, tries to get him to eat something, too, but he has no appetite.  He can't shake the feeling that he's missing something- maybe some new lock- so before shutting down the house, Richie helps him double check every door and window.   

 

Once they are in his room, he starts to relax a little bit, and even feels up to getting some homework done.  Richie groans when he brings this up, but he gets his own out of his backpack and they sit next to each other on the bed, books set between them and assignments on their laps.  It feels so normal, like nothing has changed, and Eddie is able to focus.  With Richie's help, he gets everything done pretty quickly.   

 

It's still early, but he's so damn tired, so he gets ready for bed.  Richie follows his lead, and it's funny, because Eddie's never known Richie to willingly go to bed early, but he is now.  He mentions it when Richie is back in the room, smelling of toothpaste and soap, and Richie snorts, dropping down on the right side of the bed, while Eddie carefully remains on the left.   

 

It's quiet then, and it's never quiet between the two of them.  Eddie turns to look at Richie, catches him staring, and can't stop himself from laughing when their eyes meet.  

 

"What the fuck is so funny?" Richie asks, moving closer with a wide grin, his arm resting comfortably over Eddie's shoulders.  "I was just trying to get your attention, and you  _laugh_  at me?"  

 

"By staring at me?"   

 

Richie shrugs.  "It's my one good move."  

 

"You're such a moron," Eddie says, shoving Richie playfully, smiling wide and uninhibited.  The constant stream of problems piling up in the back of his mind can wait.  He wants a moment, at least, to enjoy this new thing.  "Don't steal my move, thief."   

 

Richie's smile thins out, the atmosphere in the room shifting, the warmth that was growing falling away.  "You know, we haven't had a chance to talk," Richie says, his dark eyes looking him over uncertainly. "About anything."   

 

"I know," Eddie sighs, and he lets himself lean closer to Richie's warmth, to recapture the good feelings he had only moments ago. "I'm sorry."   

 

"No, don't," Richie shifts, bringing one long leg up and folding it under his thigh.  He touches Eddie's jaw, his fingers sliding back, into his hair, to scratch at the back of his neck with blunt nails.  "Don't be sorry.  I'm just, I've been worried.  All damn day."   

 

"I'm fine," is Eddie's instant response, but he catches the doubt that flickers over Richie's expression.  It's like an instinct, to pretend he's okay, even though he's always hurting inside.  He only ever feels normal around his friends.  So he decides to fight the voice in his mind, encouraging him to hide how he feels.  Hesitantly, looking away, he says, "I'm not," and is surprised that he doesn't regret it immediately.   

 

"I know," Richie says, and then his familiar arms are winding around him, pulling him close, and Eddie doesn't resist.  "Talk to me."   

 

"But I feel the same way I always do," Eddie says into his shirt, arms finding their way around Richie's chest.  "It's nothing you haven't already heard."   

 

"So?"  Richie looks down at him, glasses smudged slightly, and Eddie looks past that, to the thoughts displayed in Richie's eyes.  "It doesn't matter.  You can feel like shit the same way every day, I still want you to tell me about it." 

 

Eddie stares up at him, mesmerized.  As stupid as it sounds in his head, he can't believe how damn lucky he is, how easy it could have been this entire time.  Richie is his best friend, his wall to lean on, his hope and his laughter when he feels so down that he can't even breathe.  There's nothing standing in the way now, and he wonders, then, why he's not soaking up every little bit of Richie he can.  Why is he just sitting here, wasting more time, when he can be enjoying this?   

 

"I don't want to talk about it," he says, and before Richie can protest, he places his hand over Richie's knee, giving it a squeeze that he hopes is reassuring.  "Not right now.  Later, maybe."   

 

Richie looks like he's not going to let it go, but he does, surprisingly, and he places his hand over Eddie's.  "Whenever you want, okay?  Wake my ass up if you have to."   

 

Eddie smiles, turns his hand over, watches as their fingers naturally slip between each other.  "But you don't wake up for anything."   

 

"For you I will," Richie says, voice much softer than before.  "Okay?"   

 

Eddie nods, squeezes Richie's hand, tries to ignore the sudden wave of feeling in his stomach.  "Yeah- okay."   

 

It feels right when Richie leans in to him, pausing with a few inches between their mouths, to lift his chin and meet him.  It's soft, a little timid, and even so, Eddie's insides rejoice at the chaste press of their lips.  He's not sure he can get used to this- wanting it for so long has taught him to accept their friendship, because it would never be anything more.  And he's so glad Richie is braver than he is, otherwise he would never know what this feels like.   

 

Richie's mouth moves over his, waking something in his skin, in his chest- and Eddie's pretty sure he's not doing well keeping up, but it doesn't seem to matter one bit to Richie.  With a low noise Richie pulls back, not very far.  He looks down at Eddie's mouth, tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he removes his glasses, setting them down somewhere on the comforter.  Warm, sweaty palms come up and cradle Eddie's jaw, and he leans into the touch, not caring at all about the damp skin on his face.   

 

When Richie leans in again, Eddie grasps the front of his shirt, holding on as Richie's lips press hard against his.  They pull back, meet again, and with every touch, Richie holds him a little tighter, his hands moving to new places- one on Eddie's waist, bunching in his shirt, the other in his hair, taking hold of the longer strands.  And he thinks, as Richie's mouth opens up over him, that maybe he should stop this, because his hands are wandering with a mind of their own, and his body is growing warm, and tense.  But it's not the kind of tension he's used to.  This is different, unfamiliar.  He's breathing heavily now, the heat in his stomach winding tighter as Richie's lips leave his and latch on to his neck.  It feels  _good_ \- and he swallows thickly, letting out an embarrassing sound when Richie's teeth nip at a spot under his ear.   

 

Then Eddie is suddenly on his back, Richie looming over him, and even though he's imagined this before, daydreamed endlessly, it's unlike anything his simple brain could ever come up with.  It's full of sound, and taste, and  _heat_ , and he clutches Richie's shoulders as their lips meld together.  Richie's tongue licks over him, and Eddie opens up to let him in, parts his legs to feel Richie against him completely.   

 

"Eds,"  Richie breathes against his mouth, kissing him again, and Eddie inhales when he feels something press against the inside of his thigh.  It's- fuck, he  _knows_  what it is, and he should care, should stop things right now- but his body responds alike, all the warmth in his skin moving down, down- until he's hard and he needs, and he  _aches_. 

 

"Rich," he murmurs, letting his hands go exactly where they want to be- in Richie's hair, where he tugs on the curls.  "R-Richie," he stammers, groaning deeply when Richie's hips roll down over him.  And holy  _shit_ \- Richie makes a sound against his throat, and he does it again, and Eddie's never felt  _anything_  like this before.  But he  _likes_  it, doesn't want it to stop, so he holds on to Richie's back, lifting his hips as they desperately move together.  

 

He thinks Richie says his name again, but he doesn't hear him clearly-  _can't_  hear him clearly.  Richie's hot breath washes over his skin, and he feels the wet press of his mouth as he buries his face in Eddie's neck- and Eddie whimpers pathetically, mindlessly grinding his hips up, the tight band in his stomach close, so close to breaking.  A sound gets caught in Richie's throat, in his own, and he can't- he can't  _breathe-_ and thenoise tears out of him as he drops his head back and the tension all throughout his body swells, snaps, and his limbs shake as he digs his nails into Richie's shirt and starts to fall apart.  His hips twitch, his arms lock up where they are around Richie's neck, and he hears himself distantly, crying out as his thighs clench tightly around Richie's waist.  He has just enough presence of mind to feel the shudder that goes through Richie's frame, to catch the gasping close to his ear- and Richie's body sags into him, weighing him down.  

 

Eddie breathes harshly, eyes fluttering open, and he stares up at the ceiling over Richie's shoulder, not really seeing the cracks he already knows are there.  He can't... he can't think, can't catch his breath, dazed at the loose feeling all through his limbs.  He's trembling a little, holding on to Richie, and he feels Richie move off of him, so he forces his hands to cooperate and unleash their iron grip on his clothes.  He feels... stunned.  Yes, stunned.  It's so much to take in at once.  It takes him several minutes for his brain to start working, and when it finally does, he can feel Richie's eyes on him.  With great effort, he turns to him, frowning when he sees the terrified look Richie is giving him.   

 

Reaching out, Eddie touches his arm, and he's not sure why Richie is staring at him like that, but he needs to know.  "Rich?"  He asks, rolling to lie on his side, doing his best to ignore the wet mess he can feel in his sweats.   

 

Richie doesnt move for a few moments, but then he's got his arms around Eddie, pulling him close and kissing his cheek tenderly.  His hair is a wreck, curls falling over his eyes, and he says, a little breathless, "Fuck, I'm sorry, Eds- I just,  _god_ , I shouldn't have-"  

 

Eddie stops him with a quick kiss, because now he knows exactly where this is going.  He's not having Richie feel guilty over this.  "Hey," he says, pulling back to rest their heads together.  "It's okay.  I... I wanted it."  

 

Richie searches his eyes.  "Yeah?"   

 

Nodding, Eddie feels a blush grow in his face.  "Yes.  It was nice."   

 

"You're  _sure_?"   

 

He nods again, but Richie still looks doubtful, so he lifts himself up, leans over him, and kisses him slow, with none of the finesse that Richie possesses.  Richie's hands come up and tangle in his hair, keeping him close.  He knows it's not going to be enough to completely reassure him, but it's the best he can do when his mind is still spinning from what they just did.   

 

After they change their soiled clothes, Eddie gladly crawls under the covers, scooting back in to Richie's hold when he feels his arms wrap him up from behind.  He's still amazed, his brain on some kind of high, body relaxed entirely.  He's not quite sure how it happened, because he's never done anything like  _that_  before- but there's no doubt in his mind that he certainly enjoyed it.   

 

Richie noses his hair, kisses his ear, and says, "You're amazing.  So amazing..." and he says nothing else, but it's more than enough to make Eddie's heart thump hard. 

 

Eddie doesn't reply, but he snuggles closer, absorbing the affection he's craved for so long.  It's so easy to fall asleep this way, and he does so quickly, dreaming of a day at the quarry with the losers- even Ben and Bill.  They splash around, ride each other's shoulders, throw one another into the water, and it's so peaceful.  They all hover around each other, and though he hasn't seen or heard from Bill or Ben in so long, his mind can still create their voices and faces perfectly- 

 

A noise startles Eddie out of his dream.  He shivers, blinking his heavy lids open, drawing the comforter up and around his shoulders.  It's pretty cold, and it shouldn't be; the heat is on, he's got about three blankets all piled on top of him, and Richie is giving off so much body heat his back feels sweaty and a little sticky.  Something makes him shiver, a strange feeling, like something's not right, so he hoists himself up on his elbow, blinking as he glances around the dark room.   

 

Everything looks normal.   

 

Climbing out of bed, Eddie heads for the bathroom, padding quietly over the carpet and out into the hall.  He flips the light on and closes the door, blinking under the brightness as he hurries up with his business.  His gaze is drawn over his shoulder a few times, to the closed shower curtain, and he hates having his back to it.  Even as he washes his hands and looks up at the mirror, staring into his own dark, tired eyes, and the bags beneath them, he can't shake the uneasy feeling steadily growing in his abdomen.  

 

After drying his hands off, he slowly steps closer to the shower, fingers outstretched to grasp the curtain.  He grabs the edge, holds his breath, and tugs it open, exhaling when he finds the space empty and the floor void of any dirt or footprints.  So stupid- he's just so damn paranoid and stupid, and even more so when he's sleepy, apparently.   

 

Eddie steps into the hall again, moving through the dark to go back to his room, but a noise to his left- somewhere down the staircase- stops him just before the doorway.  Turning slowly, he stands at the top of the stairs and peers down into the black, but he doesn't see anything, can't really, with how dark the empty space is below him.  It was probably just one of those noises houses make, settling foundation and what not, and besides, the stairs creak under any kind of weight, and it definitely didn't sound like that.  He listens for a few moments, waiting to hear the sound again, but everything is completely silent now, with the heater humming steadily.   

 

Shaking his head at himself, Eddie sighs and turns back around- but he stops, his eyes landing on a tall figure standing in the doorway of the spare bedroom.  He can't see his face, but his heart starts thumping wildly and his stomach drops straight down his center, because he knows who it is- he knows it can't be anyone else.   

 

Short of breath, Eddie stands frozen in place as Sam reveals himself, stepping out into the very faint moonlight that shines in Eddie's room, spilling out in a narrow beam in the hall.  He can't move, he can't breathe- his airways start to close up, like they did when he was a kid, and for the first time in a very long time, he wishes desperately for his long abandoned inhaler.  When Sam steps forward, Eddie steps back, his back hitting the wall, his stomach turning at the hungry look in Sam's eyes- he should yell, shout, scream- but his voice isn't working, and he clutches at the front of his shirt, over his chest, trying to suck down air that doesn't want to make it's way into his lungs.   

 

Sam moves closer, and he's only a few feet away, close enough that he can touch Eddie if that's what he's planning to do- and that thought is what wakes Eddie out of his fearful stupor, and he finds his voice again, stuttering as he says, firmly, "G-Get out of my h-house."   

 

Smiling blankly, Sam's hand comes up, closes around Eddie's wrist, and then he moves forward suddenly, to trap Eddie, to grab him, to pin him to the wall- but Eddie tugs his wrist away, shouts, " _Get out_!" and then he's swinging out with a closed fist, landing a hard blow on Sam's chest, pushing him back a few inches with a hard shove.   

 

Eddie hears rustling coming from his room, Richie's groggy, "Eds?   _Eds_?" and then Sam is fleeing down the stairs, and he's getting away- and Eddie whirls around when Richie comes hurrying out of the room.  "What the fuck's going on?" 

 

"It's Sam!  He's in the house- he, he's downstairs!"  Eddie says, and he doesn't get a chance to say anyting more before Richie is heading down after him.  Following closely behind, Eddie searches through the house, flipping lights on, seeing no signs of disturbance anywhere until they get to the back door.  It's open again, like it was before, and Richie moves to head outside, a look of pure rage and hatred on his face- and Eddie grabs him by the shirt, pulling him back before he can take another step.   

 

"Richie,  _no_!"  Eddie cries, and he uses his weight to tug him further into the house.  "No- no, no don't- don't go!"   

 

"What- why the fuck not?"  Richie retorts heatedly, taking Eddie's hands and prying them off of him.    

 

"Please!"  Eddie takes hold of him again, his voice high and panicky as he says, "I don't- I don't want him to hurt you!"  

 

Richie raises his voice, breathing hard.  "I can catch him right now!"   

 

"And do what?"   

 

"Fuck- I don't  _know_ , okay?"  Richie turns away, running his hands through his hair in pure frustration.  "How the  _fuck_  did he get in here?"   

 

Eddie doesn't know, and he doesn't care- he can feel tears already pricking at his eyes, his chest tightening, and he just wants to get the hell out of here.  "Richie, please, can we just- can we leave?  I don't wanna be here."   

 

Richie takes a deep breath, nodding as he takes Eddie's face in his hands, looking him over worriedly.  "He didn't touch you, did he?  Did he do anything to you?"   

 

"No- no, he didn't."   

 

"And you don't want to call the police?"   

 

Eddie shakes his head.  They weren't any help last night- what good would they be now?  "Let's just go, please?"   

 

They get some things together, Eddie picking through what's left of his wardrobe for warm clothes since Sam destroyed a good portion of it.  Checking the house one last time, they find every lock in place, every board, and a chill goes through Eddie's spine as he considers that maybe Sam was in the house the whole time.  He doesn't see how it's possible, they checked every nook, every closet and crevice, two, maybe even three times, and there was definitely no sign of anyone else in the house.   

 

When they get to Richie's house Eddie gets into bed immediately, turning over on his side and clinging to Richie tightly.  He doesn't know why this, of everything Sam has done, has scared him the most.  The shaking in his arms won't seem to go away, the clenched ball of anxiety in the center of his chest refuses to let him breathe properly, and he fucking hates it.  There's nothing he wants more than to go to sleep, forget about everything, and hope that Sam doens't know where Richie lives.  He's not sure  Richie's parents being home could stop him if he really wants to get to Eddie.   

 

Richie tries to talk to him, in a calm, level voice, combing his fingers through Eddie's hair and running his palm down Eddie's back, but nothing helps, and Eddie doesn't fall asleep until the early hours of the morning.   

 

: : : : 

 

 

It's raining all day again on Sunday.   

 

Eddie doesn't say much to Richie when he gets up.  It's not that he doesn't want to, he's just still shaken up about last night.  His mom is coming back today, and he's scared to go back home, regardless if she's in the house with him or not.  There's probably no way he's ever going to feel safe there again, but he just wishes he knew exactly how Sam is getting in.   

 

It's pretty quiet throughout the day, and Eddie makes an effort to keep his mind off Sam and everything else.  Richie's dad makes some amazing sandwiches for lunch, and asks Eddie how things are going, if he's decided what to do after graduation, what he wants to study.  He really likes Mr. Tozier; he's always in a good mood, always playing off Richie's dumbass jokes, and Eddie actually gets to witness Richie learn how to make a "killer king sub".   

 

In Richie's bedroom, Eddie lets Richie kiss him softly, spread him out on his back and run his hands over his clothed body.  It's gentle, and he feels comfortably warm, and cared for, and though he really,  _really_  wants to do more of what they did last night, he doesn't let things get carried away.  Surprisingly, Richie seems content to put his head in Eddie's lap and play video games that way, humming as Eddie drags his fingers through his hair, sighing each time Eddie scratches at his scalp.  The bubble of affection in his chest rises again, and as he stares down at this messy, kind, beautiful boy, smiling stupidly when he snorts and swears at something on the TV screen, Eddie wonders, not for the first, if he's in love.   

 

Around four he decides it's a good time to go back, and gets his stuff together slowly.  Richie carries his bag out to the car for him, and holds his hand on the drive back.  His mother shouldn't be home for a while still, so he'll have some time to make sure everything is clean and somewhat orderly, even though he doesn't really care to.   

 

They turn down his street and get closer to the house, and when Eddie sees his mom's car already in the driveway, he immediately has a bad feeling about it.  It's not like she's never come home earlier than planned, but they left so quick last night that he's pretty sure he missed something in the house- and he's going to get blamed if anything is broken or out of place.   

 

They pull up to the curb, and Eddie doesn't get out right away.  He sits, staring at the front door, willing to give almost  _anything_  to not have to stay here another night.  His thoughts must show on his face, because Richie brings his hand up to his mouth, kisses his knuckles softly, and says, "You don't have to stay here, you know."   

 

Eddie does; he's got nowhere else to go.  "It... it'll be fine.  I'll just keep to myself."   

 

"You can stay with me."  

 

"Come on, Richie..." 

 

"No, I'm serious,"  Richie says, turning to face Eddie a little more.  "If it's just for a few days, just to get away, that's fine.  But, if it's longer," he pauses, glances away, and finishes with, "then that's okay, too."   

 

There's no way he's hearing this correctly.  "Wait, are you- are you offering to let me...  _live_  with you?"   

 

Richie nods.  "We're graduating soon, anyway.  It wouldn't be for very long."   

 

Eddie isn't sure what to say- he needs time to think about it.  He'll probably say no, no matter how much he wants to accept.  "Let's not jump to that, okay?"   

 

Richie gives him a grim look, but he doesn't say anything more about it.  They get out of the car, and Eddie knows Richie is going to follow him inside, because he's going to check the whole house, whether his mom is there or not.  As he unlocks the door and pushes it open, he's glad to have Richie by his side.  The kitchen light is on, and he sees his mom seated at the table, a spot she rarely, if ever, occupies.  

 

He moves left to head up the stairs, beckoning Richie to follow him, when he hears his mom say, "Get over here.  Now."   

 

Her cold tone puts him on guard, and he looks at Richie apologetically, then heads through the entryway and into kitchen, stopping just in front of the table, Richie close behind him.  "Yes, mom?"   

 

She looks past his shoulder, her eyes narrowing dangerously.  "Go home,  _Richard_ ,” she spits out, arms folded across the surface of the table.   "You're not welome here anymore."  

 

Eddie bristles.  "He- He's not going.  I want him here." 

 

She outright glares at him, and Eddie reaches behind himself, searching blindly until he finds Richie's hand, and gives it a squeeze.  "Fine," she says, pushing herself up and out of the chair, rising up and coming closer to him.  "You want this boy around so much?  Why don't you get a head start- you can leave for  _California_  now.  Why wait?"   

 

Eddie's eyes go wide, and something squeezes in his chest.  He hasn't- he hasn't told anyone but Bev about California.  "What... how did you-"   

 

"Sam stopped by earlier.  He told me."   

 

Closing his eyes, Eddie takes a deep breath.  He doesn't know how the hell Sam could even know about that.  God why-  _why_  won't he just leave him alone?  Why does he have to keep coming into his life over and over again?  "Mom, listen-"  

 

"Is it true?"  She cuts him off, staring hard at him, glancing angrily at Richie.  "Are you really going to  _leave_  me and run off to the other side of the country with this- this-" she gestures at Richie, sneering, her voice going high and whiny, the way it does when she's trying to use it against him.  " _This stupid, faggot boy_?"   

 

Eddie inhales, pushing his chest out and standing in front of Richie protectively.  "Don't call him that!"  He says, raising his own voice, and he hates that he almost sounds like her.  "Don't call him  _anything_  like that!"   

 

"This is HIS fault!"  She screams, and Eddie doesn't back down, even when she gets in his face, and he's glowering down at her.  "You're supposed to stay  _here_ , go to school  _here_ , get a job  _HERE_."   

 

"I don't  _want_  to stay here!"   

 

"You did before!"   

 

"No, no!"  Eddie turns away, grabbing handfuls of his own hair, praying for patience; his mom is crazy, and lonely, and she  _needs_  him- has tried to keep him under her thumb for all these years.  If she would just listen to him for once, they wouldn't get into these kinds of arguments.  He just hates that Richie has to witness it.  "I don't want that.  I  _never_  wanted that."   

 

"If you would just give Sam a chance, you'd see that he's much better for you, and then you could stay here with me, and him-"  

 

"NO!"  He spins back around, facing her, and he's got tears coming down now, and he's trembling with the hot swell of rage in his stomach.  No, no he's not going to listen to her bullshit.  "Sam will not leave me alone, mom!  He follows me, and he- he  _says_  things to me, and he  _touches_  me-” Eddie stops, takes in another shakier breath, and goes on.  "And he- he tried to do more to me in the fucking  _bathroom_  at the fucking movie theater."   

 

"That's not true," she says, her small eyes wide and fearful.  "That's not- you're lying.  Eddie, why are you lying?"   

 

His mouth falls open, even though he's not that surprised that she doesn't believe him.  "I'm not  _lying_.  Why would I lie about something like that?"   

 

She looks past him again, to where Richie is still standing silently behind him, in the darkness of the entryway.  "If you're going to leave, and go to California, then you better go now."   

 

"It's not until the end of the  _year_ , mom," he says, exasperated, running his palm over his forehead.   "Why can't you just  _listen_  to me?"   

 

"I'm done listening to your bullshit, Eddie."   

 

Eddie stops, looks at her again, and there's something hard and cruel in her eyes, a look he's never seen directed his way before.  Cautiously, he says, "It's not bullshit.  It's the truth- all of it.  You never listen to me- Sam's not a good person, mom.  He's  _not_."   

 

"You are such a child."  She scowls, steps past him and around Richie, through the entryway.   "You're eighteen- you can do whatever you want.  If you want to go and be with this  _thing_  here, then fine.  Get your things, and get the hell out of my house."   

 

Wait.  What?  No, she can't- she can't mean that.  "What do you-”

 

"Get  _out_ ," she says again, this time with more force behind it.  "I swear, you're just like your damn father.  He was such a lying  _bastard_ \- I should have left him before I got pregnant and stuck with you."   

 

Eddie chokes back the sob that threatens to burst from him.  He's just- he  _hurts_ , his chest is ready to crack open- there's just too much inside it already.  His mom has never,  _ever_  said anything like this to him before.  There's no stopping the flow of tears, steadily coming down now, and he's never felt so damn alone in his life.  "Mom..."   

 

" _Get out_!" 

 

Get out?   _Get out_?  And go where?  He has no one-  _nothing_.  His legs are shaking, and his fingers are twisting in his sweater, and he can't think past, “ _What the hell am I going to do_?” to make them move and cooperate.  Just as he thinks he's about to collapse, or just breakdown completely, Richie is there, taking him by the shoulders and steering him toward the staircase.  As they head up, he hears his mom mumbling from the living room, calling him selfish, and ungrateful, a dirty little queer, "Just like your fucking father".   

 

Richie grabs bags, his old backpacks, and they start to fill them up in silence.  The clothes that are ruined are still down in the laundry room, so Eddie packs what's left, along with the remainder of his books, his music, his school things.  Though he doesn't have that much stuff, it's still more than can fit in Richie's car, and by the time the backseat and trunk are stuffed, he has to plan to come back and get the rest another time.  

 

He can't believe this is happening.   

 

There's no time to try to process it, as they head down the stairs and toward the front door.  He pulls his keys out of his pocket, heads into the living room, where his mom is in her chair and watching the tv screen intently.  He drops the key down in front of her, right on the little table with all of her junk and things for her nails.   

 

She looks at the little silver key, frowning as she says, "Where's the other one?"   

 

"What other one?"   

 

"The spare," she gestures toward the front door, to where the spare key usually hangs on a key rack.  "It's not there."   

 

"I don't have it," he says thinly.  "I haven't touched it."   

 

She rolls her eyes, narrowing them at him, nostrils flaring.  "Fine."   

 

"I need to get the rest of my stuff," he says, not looking her in the eyes.  "I can't get it all out right now." 

 

"Whatever you don't take with you today stays here.  I don't want you back here."   

 

Fuck- he needs some of the bigger furniture, and some things stuffed under his bed.  "It's a lot of stuff..." 

 

"Figure it out."   

 

He doesn't want to, but he calls Mike, Bev and Stan for help.  They don't ask a lot of questions, which he's so grateful for, but they get there quickly, Mike in his truck, Stan in his father's borrowed car.  Mike and Richie haul the dresser down, and Eddie and Bev grab the nightstand.  The desk is useless, so he decides to leave it behind, but he grabs his sketchpad, and his small and new collection of records, his shoes and his nick nacks.  Stan pulls a tarp out of the trunk of his dad's car, and he and Bev string it down over the bed of Mike's truck, on top of all his larger possessions.  It's not going to protect them entirely, but it's better than nothing, and Eddie is so glad that Stan is always so prepared.  Bev offers to house most of his things in one of the extra rooms, and he only agrees to it because he has no idea what to do with everything otherwise.       

 

When they're ready to go, all he's left behind is his bed, his desk, and a few things that he figures are pointless to bring with him.  Before climbing into Richie's car, he takes one last look at the house, and it's like he's walking in some kind of nightmare; he's been kicked  _out_.  His mom  _actually_  kicked him out.  It doesn't sound real in his mind, but it is, and he can't understand how everything has gone so wrong.  All he wanted was to try and feel safe, to maybe get his mom to understand- but it's not going to happen now.   

 

Stan and Mike pull away, heading to Bev's house first, and Richie doesn't follow them immediately.  They sit there, in silence, Eddie staring blankly out the window, and he's not even hurting anymore.  He's just numb- or maybe he's feeling too many things at once- it's hard to say.  He thinks Richie wants to say something, but he doesn't want to listen to it right now- he's just not... he can't talk.  Not unless he wants to fall apart and stay that way.   

 

Richie must sense this, because he starts the car and follows Stan's tailights as they turn and disappear around the corner.  Wind picks up a little bit on the way, and by the time they get to Bev's house and see Stan and Mike already unloading Eddie's things, it's going strong enough to blow the tarp off.  Fortunately, Bev moves fast and saves it before it can fly off into the road, and Eddie helps her tie it down once again, anchored to the tailgate to be put away when they're done.   

 

Between the five of them, Eddie's belongings are unloaded very quickly, and then all that's left is what he's taking with him to Richie's house; a bag, a couple backpacks, and his school things.  They all gather outside on the front steps, huddled together with their backs to the road, and Eddie wants to say thank you to all of them, can feel an astonishing amount of affection inside for each of them.  He loves his friends so much; this handful of people, who have no obligation to him, who always come through when he needs them the most- he doesn't even know how to explain what they mean to him, or how to  _tell_  them how important they are. 

 

Their eyes are all on him, and he looks at each one of them meaningfully, and he doesn't mean to start crying, but at this point he really shouldn't be surprised as his eyes sting and his chest starts to hurt with hitching breaths.  He hugs himself, looking down at the ground, his cheeks red with shame, and there are no words coming to mind that are good enough for them.   _He's_  not good enough for them- but here they are, out in the rain with him, ready to give him everything they have.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

 

Four pairs of arms are suddenly wrapping around him, somehow, and he unwinds his own to try and fit them all in his embrace- he can't, so he clutches at them where he can.  One hand in Mike's shirt, the other on Bev's shoulder, Stan under his arm, and he shoves his face in Richie's neck, sobbing hard as they all hold on to him tightly.  These people are his life.  They are his safety, and his happiness- and he's going to keep them all for as long as he possibly can.   

 

* * *

 

 

 

It's quite possible that there is nothing that can bring Richie's mood down.   

 

Waking up on Monday for school, with Eddie beside him, curled up under his arm and snoring lightly into one of Richie's pillows- there are no words to describe the feeling it creates in Richie's chest.  He noses at the back of Eddie's neck, kissing the skin there lightly, and the way Eddie groans sleepily and turns over, blinking his eyes open to look at him, almost pulls the three stupid words out of Richie that keep hiding behind his tongue every time he opens his mouth.   

 

Though he's very happy with the arrangement, regardless of how much he wants to kill Mrs. K for hurting him, he can see that Eddie doesn't like having his routine disrupted.  He's quiet as he gets ready, saying nothing as he comes back to the room after taking a shower, and Richie pulls him into a long hug once he's got his socks and shoes on, touching Eddie's face with his thumb as he looks into his eyes.  Eddie seems okay, if a little irritable, even after breaking down yesterday, and Richie can only hope that things will get better after this.   

 

School drags on.  He forgets that he's not supposed to show Eddie any affection out in the world, where anyone can see them and come after them.  They haven't told their friends about them, either, but he's pretty sure they know anyway- after all, they didn't make any comments when the two kissed each other briefly in the rain yesterday.   

 

At the end of the day Eddie tells him that he has to work that night.  Richie takes him to the library, and he plans to stick around and keep an eye on him, because he's got a feeling that Sam might try to catch him at the library again.  When he shuts the car off and starts to get out, Eddie stops him, giving him a confused look. 

 

"What are you doing?"  Eddie asks, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder and leaning into the open door.   

 

"I'm staying with you,” Richie says, and he sees how Eddie glances over his shoulder, contemplating something.  "I'm not leaving you here by yourself."   

 

Eddie gets back in the car, shutting the door behind him, and he takes a quick glance around, his hair bouncing slightly with each turn of his head.  "Rich, I don't need you to stay with me.  I'll be fine- I'm even getting off earlier than usual."   

 

"So?"   

 

Eddie looks at him, brows furrowing slightly, and in a calm voice, he says, "So I think you should go home."   

 

"I'm just gonna sit there and worry," Richie admits, and he touches the back of Eddie's hand, meeting his eyes, their faces close to each other.  "What if- what if he shows up here?  What if-"   

 

"I'll be  _fine_ ,” Eddie says firmly, with no room for argument.  "You can come early if you want to.  I know you're going to anyway."   

 

Richie knows if he doesn't leave, Eddie will just get upset.  "Fine," he says, and he takes Eddie's fingers in his, running his thumb over his small fingernails, and the first knuckle of his pinkie.  "What kind of boyfriend just leaves, though?"   

 

Eddie makes a face, wrinkling his nose.  "Boyfriend?  That sounds so... weird."   

 

Richie grins, nudging Eddie with his arm.  "What are we supposed to call each other, hm?" 

 

Eddie smiles crookedly, leaning in and kissing Richie quickly.  "It doesn't matter."   

 

After Richie leaves, he realizes he doesn't want to go home quite yet, so he turns right instead of left at the first stop sign and heads for Bev's house.  Luckily she's home, not off with Mike, and they hang out in her room with their heads hanging off the bed, passing a cigarette back and forth between them.  Richie's cut back so much that the first pull makes him choke as Bev laughs and thumps him on the back.  Richie listens as she talks about wanting to own a clothing store, and she goes into detail, listing off the little things she wants to have to make it different from the others out there- it's pretty nice, and relaxing, and before he knows it, several hours have gone by and it's almost time to go and get Eddie.   

 

"How is he doing today?" Bev asks, sitting up and folding her legs over each other.  "I worry about him all the time."   

 

"He's fine, I guess,” Richie replies, dropping down on the carpet and pulling one shoe on.  He starts to do up the laces as he says, "I don't think he's gonna be happy staying with me, though."   

 

Bev frowns, blowing smoke out of nostrils as she asks, "Why do you say that?"   

 

Richie moves on to the next shoe.  "I'm annoying, I know it, and I know he likes his space and his privacy, and he has none of that now."   

 

"He can stay here."   

 

Richie pauses, pulling the laces tightly together.  "You're serious?"   

 

Shrugging, Bev smashes her cigarette into a purple ash tray on her nightstand, says, "I already talked to my aunt about it, but I wanted to run it by you first to see if it's even worth bringing up to him.  So..."  She raises a brow, taps her knee.  "What do you think?"   

 

He really wants Eddie to stay with him, but he knows it's not going to work out.  Eddie is a creature of habit and solitude, even though he thrives while in the company of his friends- it just doesn't mean he wants to be around them constantly.  And now, their relationship has developed into something more, the very thing he's wanted for so damn long, and Richie knows he's bound to get on Eddie's nerves.    

 

"I think you should talk to him about it," He says finally, pushing himself up and shaking out his sleeping leg.  "I don't want him thinking I don't want him with me."   

 

Bev nods, understanding, and he gives her a brief hug before heading to the library.   

 

: : : :  

 

 After school is out on Tuesday, Richie stops by his house so he and Eddie can drop off their things and pick up a few snacks for Bev's Anti-Thanksgiving party.  Eddie wants to change, and as he's buttoning up a green, plaid shirt that Richie has always liked on him, Richie kisses the back of his neck slowly, gripping Eddie's hips as he stands behind him, pulling him back and completely flush against him. 

 

They lose maybe half an hour this way, kissing passionately on the bed and grinding hard together.  Richie wants to see the whole thing through, to watch Eddie come undone again, and pay closer attention so he can memorize exactly how he looks when he loses himself.  But Eddie pulls back, breathing heavily, and reminds him that they need to get going, they have a lot of stuff to do, and they can always do this later.  Richie grumbles, but he knows Eddie is right.   

 

When they get to Bev's house her aunt is already gone, but Mike is there and he's in the kitchen, cooking something that smells awesome and makes Richie's mouth start to water.   

 

"What the fuck, Mike?"  Richie asks, coming up behind him and peeking over his shoulder to see what he's stirring so slowly and carefully.  "Is that fucking clam chowder?"   

 

Mike nods, smirking as he lowers the heat.  "Yeah, Bev wanted some more.  I'm guessing you're gonna want some, too?"   

 

"Guessed right, my good man."   

 

Smiling, Mike sets the large spoon down on the counter, on top of a paper towel, and he turns to look at Richie, his expression sobering.  "Hey, uh- I don't want to bring this up to Eddie right now, but,” he looks past Richie's shoulder, lowers his voice, and leans in slightly.  "I think I know where Sam lives."   

 

Richie's eyes widen, and he, too, glances over his shoulder, to see that Bev and Eddie are still talking in the living room.  "Where?"   

 

"There's this house really far down the road from mine," Mike says, and he looks a little uncertain, a little queasy, maybe.  "It's the opposite way from town, so I don't go down that far very often, but I did the other day, and, you know, I've seen the last name on the mail box enough times, but I just never made the connection."   

 

"Ellis?" 

 

"Yeah."   

 

Richie glances back again, then moves over slightly and folds his arms over each other to lean on the counter, the dirty spoon close to his elbow.  "Is it an old house?"   

 

Mike looks sideways for a moment, like he's considering his next words, and says, "It's a  _big_  house.  I'm pretty sure he's got family money- I definitely saw a car out front that looks exactly like his." 

 

"Beige Chrysler Lebaron?"   

 

Mike nods, says, "And this house is creepy.  Like, not Neibolt creepy, but... just weird."   

 

Richie frowns.  "Weird how?"   

 

"Hey, Rich," Eddie's voice says from behind him, and Richie turns around, smiling wide as Eddie asks, "Can I talk to you real quick?"   

 

Richie follows Eddie down the hallway to the bedrooms, into the last one closest to the bathroom.  All of his things have been stored here, in a mess of bags and backpacks, his furniture carefully pressed up against the walls.  Eddie closes the door behind them, and then pulls Richie by the hand over to the bed set up off-center from the rest of the room.   

 

They sit down, and Eddie tells him about Bev offering him a room in the house.  Eddie seems a little nervous, his hands flat against each other and wedged between his thighs, his eyes cast downward to the floor, avoiding Richie's.  It's a little ridiculous, honestly- it's not that big of a deal. 

 

When Richie starts smiling, Eddie's brows arch upward, and he huffs out a laugh, moving forward and hooking his chin over Richie's shoulder.  "You already knew."  

 

"Yup."   

 

"Asshole," Eddie grins, looking up at Richie with his stupid, big, pretty eyes.  "I just... I need my own space."   

 

"I know."   

 

"I like my privacy."   

 

"Eds, I  _know_  this."   

 

"Don't think it's because I don't want to be around you," Eddie says slowly.  "I do."   

 

Something flutters through Richie's chest, and he feels himself smile stupidly.  "I already know you're addicted to me- I'm not worried."   

 

"Shut up," Eddie gripes, but he's still smiling, still gazing up at Richie warmly.  "I'll move all my shit over here tomorrow."   

 

"So I still get to have you with me tonight?"  Richie asks, and he loves the way Eddie's cheeks darken slightly.   

 

"Yeah..."  

 

Richie adjusts himself so that he's facing Eddie, placing his hands on Eddie's thighs, giving them a quick squeeze.  "Good, I love sleeping next to you."   

 

Eddie looks at him evenly, but his fingers are trembling slightly when they move to rest over Richie's.  "Me, too."  

 

"You love sleeping next to you?"    

 

"Oh my god, stop," Eddie snorts, digging his fingertips into Richie's knuckles.  "You know what I meant."   

 

Richie's not sure he can get used to being allowed to kiss Eddie, and even though he knows he can, he's almost hesitant to do so.  But he ignores the voice in the back of his head, telling him that he's not good enough, that he must be in some kind of dream, and he leans in.  He catches Eddie fully on the mouth, and he loses his balance, falling forward and pinning Eddie down on the bed.  Eddie giggles, and Richie can feel him smiling into the kiss, and his legs adjusting so Richie can lay comfortably between them.  He likes this position so much, seeing Eddie beneath him, feeling him squirm as Richie attacks the little sensitive spot on his neck, on the hinge of his jaw, drawing a surprised gasp from him.    

 

There's a knock on the door, and Richie pulls back as Bev's voice says from the other side, "You better not be having sex in there!  That shit takes too long and we have things to do!"   

 

"Fuck off, Bev!"  Richie calls back to her, laughing when Eddie's nose wrinkles with a wide grin.  

 

"Let me watch, then!"   

 

"Perv, no way!"   

 

"Oh,  _come_  on!"   

 

Eddie snorts, pushes him away, and then they leave the room and help get everything set up as quickly as possible.  It doesn't take long- Bev ditched the idea of making a full dinner for her guests, and she claims that it's because they wouldn't appreciate it, but Richie thinks it's just because she's lazy.  He tells her that, and gets his nipple twisted between her sharp thumb and finger.  Stan arrives late, catching them as Richie tries to get revenge on Bev by tackling her down to fart on her.  Eddie laughs when he succeeds, and Bev gags and shoves him away, hurrying to the opposite side of the room just as the first few guests show up. 

 

Richie's been to some parties before, so he's definitely on guard, especially with Eddie there.  A bunch of awesome people show up, and of course, because people have big mouths, more people come than were invited.  Luckily, Bev is still considered a loser, so it's not too many extra people than originally planned.  There's maybe thirty people or so in the house, and while Bev has not provided alcohol of any sort, Richie catches a whiff of it on some girl's breath, and he starts to sniff at the large juice bowls set out on a long table.  There's an ice chest full of sodas, too, but everyone is definitely going for the punch; he scoops a little bit out into a plastic cup and takes a sip. He blanches at the overpowering taste of vodka, and dumps the rest of it out into the sink.   

 

Guns N' Roses is blaring out of the speakers set up in the living room, and Richie finds Bev on the couch with Eddie, the two of them leaning close together and talking. Bev's arm is around Eddie's shoulders, a plastic cup full of punch clutched in Eddie's hand.  Wait- a cup of punch?   _Eddie_  drinking the punch?  Richie heads over to them, sits down on Eddie's other side, and then tentatively places his palm on Eddie’s thigh to get his attention.   

 

"Eds," he says, leaning in close to his ear.  "Why are you drinking that?"   

 

Eddie turns to him, cheeks flushed slightly, and he shrugs, says, "I've never tried it before."   

 

Richie looks over him at Bev, her brows crawling up her forehead, and Richie sighs, sliding his arm around Eddie's waist.  "Just don't drink too much of it, okay?  You're not used to it- you'll get hammered pretty quick."   

 

"Sure, yeah,” Eddie replies, just as he tips his cup back and downs the whole thing at once.   

 

After that, Eddie gets another drink, and he takes it slow, but Richie watches him as his eyes get glassy, and after a fifth cup, his steps get wobbly, and all the while Richie doesn't dare touch a drop of alcohol.  He stays close to Eddie's side, losing him a couple times when he has to walk off and go let Bev know that someone is passed out in a corner, or on the couch, or in one case, in the bathroom.  It's exhausting, and Richie wonders why the hell he ever liked going to parties in the first place- and this one is very tame, compared to some of the ones he's been to in the past.  

 

Mike and Stan are hovering by the punch bowl, and Eddie wants to go and talk to them, claiming that he misses them, and he wants to smell Mike's nice cologne and feel Stan's soft hair, and maybe some other bullshit.  People keep glancing at them, raising their brows, smirking a little bit at Eddie's behavior, and Richie just glares hard at them, daring them to say a damn thing about him.  They don't know anything about what he's been going through, and if Eddie needs one night of not feeling anything, and not thinking about anything, then he fucking deserves it.   

 

"Mike!"  Eddie exclaims, winding his arms around Mike's middle, snuggling up to his shoulder and sniffing his sweater.  "You  _always_  smell so nice- have I- have I ever told you that?"   

 

Mike looks a little amused, patting Eddie's back gently.  "Nah, Eds, you've never told me that.  Ever."  

 

"Well, you _do_ ,” he says, and he's definitely tipsy, but not quite drunk.  Richie figures a few more drinks and he'll be wasted.  "And Stan- Stan, you are so, _so_ pretty."   

 

Stan chortles, but smiles when Eddie touches his face.  "What are you even talking about?"   

 

Eddie groans, and takes a handful of Stan's hair, tugging it just hard enough for Stan to glare at him.  "You, Stan.  You're face.  You have a pretty face, like Richie's pretty face."   

 

Mike smirks at Richie, lifting his chin smugly as he says, "Richie's pretty face, Eds?  You think Richie is pretty?"   

 

"I think Richie is beautiful,” Eddie answers simply, looking Mike straight in the eyes.  "And you, Mike, you're handsome.  And Bevvy is so gorgeous- why am I friends with all the pretty people?"   

 

Richie rolls his eyes, doing his best to ignore the deep blush he feels coloring his face, and the cheeky little smiles Stan and Mike are shooting him.  "Hey, Eds, why don't we go lay down, yeah?  You can sleep a little bit, if you want to."  

 

Eddie turns around, stares up at him with big, glistening eyes.  "Rich," he says softly, moving away from Mike and into Richie's space, touching his shoulder gently.  He reaches up, grasps a chunk of Richie's curls, and pulls him down to kiss him sloppily on the mouth, in full view of anyone who might see them.  Richie's breath hitches from the sting in his roots, but he doesn't allow things to go any further, returning Eddie's kiss briefly before taking him by the shoulders and prying him away.   

 

He's not stupid enough to hope no one noticed, and he's not at all surprised by the twin looks on Stan and Mike's faces- brows raised, eyes wide- but they also look a little scared, both glancing around worriedly as Richie spots others looking on.  God- he just wants to tell them to fuck off, but he really needs to get Eddie to just stop and go rest.   

 

"Stan, watch him for a sec," Richie says, pushing Eddie into Stan's arms, shrugging when Stan gives him a look of horror.  "I'm just getting some shit for him, okay?  I'll be quick."   

 

Richie moves around the table and into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and grabbing a can of sprite, then over to the cabinets, reaching up to get a glass for water, and some plain crackers.  He looks around for some bread- Eddie will probably need some toast, too- but he can't find it in any of the cupboards he pulls open and scrounges through.  He gives up, decides to go and get something if he has to, and then his attention is drawn toward the front of the house by raised voices.   

 

Richie steps out of the kitchen, into the open space of the living room, and he sees Eddie shoving his way between Mike and Bev, who are standing together close to the open front door, blocking what looks like Josh Dickwad and his friends from entering the house.  Richie panics for a moment, contemplates how quickly he can get over there before a fight breaks out- because he knows a fight is about to happen.  Josh Dickwad is the asshole that picked on Ben for years, but backed off a bit after Eddie punched him out during freshman year.   

 

Moving forward, Richie is not prepared to hear Eddie screech, see him launch forward, and shove Josh Dickwad hard in the chest, screaming "Don't you fucking call her that, you _shit_!" as he spits right in Josh's face.  Mike grabs Eddie to pull him back, and then Richie makes it over to help him, his heart beating hard as he hauls Eddie back, struggling as Eddie kicks out and makes a wide swing at Josh.  His fist doesn't connect, but he's screaming every damn swear word Richie's ever heard before, and Richie takes a moment to shoot the asshole a hard look.   

 

"This is bullshit," Josh Dickwad says, eyes darting between his friends and Bev.  "Fucking loser-"  

 

"Get the hell out of here,” Mike states, standing tall and challenging between Bev and Josh Dickwad.  "And don't you ever call her that again, or you're dealing with me."   

 

Thankfully, Josh Dickwad leaves the house, and Richie drags Eddie away, making a mental note to check on Bev later on once he gets a chance.  He's pretty sure that asshole called her a slut, that's the one thing that gets Eddie that angry in a heartbeat, and if that's what happened, then he deserved what he got.  Honestly, if Eddie weren’t drinking, he'd probably have gone all out on him.   

 

With a little difficulty, Richie manages to get Eddie into the room where all his things are, onto the bed, and under the covers.  He pulls off Eddie's shoes, his belt, and his wristband, straightening out the little beads that spell out  _Eds_  before setting it on the closest surface, which happens to be a bookcase.  He retrieves all the things he had gathered in the kitchen, seeing no sign of Mike, Bev or Stan anywhere.  Well, he'll just have to wait and talk to them tomorrow.  Right now, he wants to get Eddie sober if it's possible.   

 

Coaxing Eddie to drink some water isn't very difficult, but he flat out refuses to eat any crackers, saying, "They make crunchy crunch sounds," with his lip pushed out and his nose wrinkled.  Somehow, through a lot of pleading and bargaining, Richie gets him to chew on a few, but then he slaps one away, giggling when it flies out of Richie's fingers and lands on the carpet.   

 

Once Eddie starts to doze off, Richie removes his own shoes, socks, belt and wallet, sets them down where Eddie's wristband is, and shuts off the light before climbing under the covers.  In the dark of the room, he feels Eddie turn over, then his head tuck-in under Richie's chin, his arms come up and wrap around Richie's waist, and even though Richie can smell the faint whiff of alcohol on Eddie's breath, hear the music still going on the other side of the door, he doesn't let those things ruin what feels incredibly right.  He has Eddie in his arms, his face in Eddie's hair, and he's breathing in the soft scent of Eddie's skin.   

 

Richie falls asleep pretty quickly, and doesn't wake up once during the night.   

 

: : : : 

 

The next morning, Richie is immediately on hangover duty.   

 

Eddie must have been worse off than he thought.  He throws up several times, curls up in a ball on the bed, doesn't want to talk to  _anyone_ , and at one point begs Richie to  _please_  close the blinds, because the fucking brightness of the sky is going to crack his skull open.  Richie feels pretty bad about it- he should have made a better effort to stop him from drinking.  But he can't deny that listening to Eddie drunkenly ramble was pretty hilarious, no matter how stressed he was about the whole thing. 

 

In the afternoon, when Eddie is up and feeling better, and they're both working on arranging his new bedroom, Richie tells him about Josh Dickwad, and Eddie doesn't look very impressed with himself.   

 

"I  _spit_  on him?"  He asks doubtfully.  "What did he do?"   

 

Richie checked in with Bev earlier, and he was pretty pissed to find his assumption was right.  "He called Bev a slut."   

 

Eddie's eyes widen slightly, and he takes a breath, eyes narrowing dangerously.  "Did I  _hit_  him?  Did  _anyone_  hit him?"   

 

"You tried."   

 

"Fucking  _asshole_ ,” Eddie says heatedly, and Richie can tell that now Eddie's regretting not doing more, just like he was this morning.  "I don't like fighting."  

 

"I know."   

 

"But he needs his ass kicked."   

 

"Definitely."  

 

Eddie looks at him suddenly, as though he's just thought of something important.  "Mike and Stan are okay, right?  Did they hear him?"   

 

Richie smirks, deciding to turn the conversation in another direction; he doesn't want Eddie to be upset about something that can't be helped.  "Pretty sure they're both still surprised by  _you_."   

 

"Why, because I spit at Josh Dickwad?"   

 

"No, no," Richie says, and he moves across the room, to where Eddie is standing next to his dresser, placing neatly folded clothes into the drawers.  "Apparently you think Stan is  _pretty_ , and Mike is  _handsome_."    

 

Eddie's cheeks start to darken.  "What... I didn't say that."   

 

"You did."   

 

"Come on, really?" 

 

"I mean, if you want to be with Mike, you're going to have to take that up with Bev,” Richie says, laughing at the look of horror on Eddie's face.  "But Stan's available, as far as I know."   

 

"Oh my  _GOD_."   

 

"It's okay, we're all a little attracted to Mike."   

 

"Richie, fucking  _stop_ ,” Eddie says, hiding his face in his palms.  " _God_ , I can't  _believe_  I said that stuff."   

 

"And Stan  _is_  pretty, too.  I get it."  

 

"I'm never drinking again!" 

 

"I'm not even sure why you did, honestly."   

 

Eddie looks up at him, his blush fading slowly, his shoulders dropping just a bit, and Richie regrets voicing the thought.  "I don't know..."  

 

"I'm sorry,” Richie says, waving his hand dismissively. He’s sure it’s because of everything that’s happened, and it’s not his place to say anything about it. "I just, I never expected you to try it."  

 

Looking down, Eddie crosses his arms over his chest, and he looks suddenly so ashamed.  "I just wanted to forget, I guess.  About everything."   

 

Sometimes Richie hates it when he’s right; it hurts him deeply to hear Eddie admit it.  "Eds..."  

 

"No, no,” Eddie unfolds his arms, scrubs his hands down over his face.  "Look, I don't- I don't want to be upset, okay?  I just want to get this shit done, eat, and then spend some time with you."  

 

Richie nods and doesn't push for more. If Eddie wants to talk about it, he'll be waiting.   

 

Though he'd much rather have Eddie with him in his house, over the next few days Richie realizes how freeing it is for Eddie to be staying at Bev's.   

 

The best thing, and what he thinks makes Eddie much happier than he's seen him in a long time, is the privacy and the respect for his boundaries.  When Bev's aunt returns from Portland early on Friday, she simply tells Eddie to pay for some groceries, to be considerate of everyone else in the house, and to keep quiet late at night, because sleep is a beautiful thing, and only evil people dare to disrupt it.   

 

The first couple nights, Richie sneaks in through Eddie's window, and Eddie freaks out, telling him to use the damn door, and that he's not even sure he's allowed to have anyone over so late at night.  But Richie's been at Bev's house past midnight often enough, and even crashed on the floor in her room a few times.  He knows it's fine, as long as they stay quiet, but he respects what Eddie wants him to do, so he knocks on the front door, is let in by Bev, and takes her shit-eating grins and her teasing, waggling brows with grace.   

 

"You're so whipped, trashmouth," she says to him on Saturday night, when he raps his knuckles on the front door around eight.  He's been at the house pretty much all day with Eddie, but he ran home to get some homework and clothes, and now he's paying the price.   

 

"I've got a good guy, Red," he retorts, sauntering in the house and immediately heading for the hallway.  "Gotta follow the rules.  I'm not ashamed."   

 

"Such a bitch for him."  Bev shoves him jokingly, and then says, "I'm happy for you, you know, in case that wasn't clear."   

 

Richie nods, pulling his backpack strap up his arm a little more, and he feels extremely appreciative of Bev all at once.  "Yeah, I know."   

 

Bev follows him down the hall, stopping at her door with a sly grin.  "Remember, these walls are thin," she says, giving him an exaggerated wink.  "If you guys fuck, I'll know it."  

 

Snorting, Richie knocks on Eddie's bedroom door, and gives her the finger as she disappears into her room. 

 

Eddie lets him in, and they get right to work, tackling a ridiculous project every Government class was assigned right before the short Thanksgiving holiday.  They have to make a stupid fucking chart, write a short essay, and summarize some other bullshit and blah blah blah- fuck stupid fucking school.  But Richie completes his project, pacing himself so that he and Eddie can work on it together, and he thinks it helps both of them.   Sometimes when he flies through his homework (now that he's actually doing most of it), he makes stupid little mistakes that get his overall score marked down.     

 

Once they're finished (thank fucking god), Eddie drops his binders right on the carpet, then throws himself back on the bed, stretching out over the covers.  He smiles lazily and says, "Can we just quit school and go to California now?" 

 

Richie chuckles.  "We probably shouldn't," He spreads out beside him, letting his hand wander, picking at the front of Eddie's sweater.  "I mean, as much as I want to leave so I can have you alone, we have to finish school first.  I've heard it's important."   

 

Eddie looks at him with  _that_  look again, the one he knows damn well that he doesn't deserve, and now that everything is out in the open, he feels it even sharper than before.  He still can't quite believe that Eddie wants him, too.  It's incredible, unbelievable- what the hell does he even have to offer him, in the long run?  Laughs?  Maybe.  Stability?  That's still up in the air.  A comfortable place to live, a home?  He hopes so.   

 

"You have me alone now,” Eddie whispers, loud enough for Richie to hear him, but quietly enough for Richie to doubt it.  "I mean, we're not completely alone, but we're alone in here, and that's better than-"   

 

Richie cuts him off with a press of lips, and he means to keep it chaste, because he honestly just wants to be in Eddie's company, no matter what they're doing.  If Eddie just wants to talk, then they'll talk.  If Eddie just wants to relax and watch some TV, maybe a movie, then Richie is down for that, too.  It should petrify him, he thinks, that he's so willing to bend over backwards for this boy, to do as he says, as he asks, because he loves him so damn much- but it doesn't scare him.  It's a lot to take in, at times.  Everything he feels for Eddie is so intense, and big, and he feels it grow in his chest each time their eyes meet, or their mouths touch, or their hands grasp at each other.   

 

Eddie holds on to him, deepening the kiss with a shy swipe of his tongue, arms sliding around Richie's chest, pulling him close.  It quickly turns heated, and isn't that something?  All this time Richie knew that if anything other than friendship grew between them, he'd have a hard time controlling himself, and he's literally holding himself back, keeping a tight hold on how badly he  _always_  wants Eddie.  He can feel it, though, in the trembling of Eddie's hands, in the uncertain way he drags his mouth over Richie's neck, that he wants more, too.  But until he asks, until he voices what he wants, Richie isn't going to do anything else, no matter how much he's aching for it.   

 

He's now completely on top of Eddie, sucking on his bobbing throat, thrilled with the sounds that keep spilling past Eddie's lips, swallowing back a groan when Eddie's hips lift off the bed and press against him.   _Fuck_ \- he's been dying to make Eddie feel good again, to make him writhe and pant, but they haven't had much time together.  Between school, the messy clean-up after the party, the bullshit with Eddie's mom, and Eddie adjusting to his new environment and routine, Richie's lucky they have been able to share a few kisses here and there.  

 

Eddie pulls back a little, peering up at Richie curiously; his voice is deeper than it usually is, as he asks, "Isn't this kinda weird?"   

 

Richie blinks at him a few times, switching gears in his brain to better concentrate on what Eddie is saying.  "Um, I don't... what do you mean?"   

 

"We're friends," Eddie says, licking his lips a little, his gaze moving away from Richie's to land on his mouth.  "It just feels, I don't know, surreal?  Like I'm gonna wake up, and... we're  _just_  friends again."   

 

Sighing, Richie leans down and pecks a kiss on his nose, smiling when Eddie makes a face.  He knows exactly what Eddie means.  "I feel like that, too."   

 

"Really?"   

 

"Fuck  _yeah_ ,” Richie admits, surprised that he doesn't feel embarrassed to do so.  "It hasn't completely sunk in yet."  Their eyes remain locked, and Richie takes a moment to appreciate Eddie's features.  His dark eyes brightened by the warmth in the room, his curly waves spread out over the pillows, his smile curving upward, kind and inviting, always there whenever Richie needs to see it.  God, he sounds like such a sap in his head, but he can't help it.  He feels it all, and he's not about to pretend otherwise now.   

 

"What?"  Eddie asks him, his voice small and secretive.   

 

"I didn't say anything."   

 

"No, but you're  _thinking_  something."  Eddie's hands move down his back smoothly, stopping low on his waist, and Richie shivers when he feels a brief touch of skin, right where his shirt is riding up.  "I can see it."    

 

"Oh, you think you know me  _so_  well," Richie says, sliding his glasses off his face and stretching to set them on the nightstand.   

 

"I do, actually."   

 

"I'm thinking about pizza.  Gooey, cheesy, greasy, with onions and peppers-"  

 

Eddie knees him in the thigh.  " _Stop_ , you are not."   

 

Richie chortles, moving his arms up to plant them on either side of Eddie's head, letting his fingers twirl around his hair.  "I'm just... thinking about how lucky I am."   

 

There's a heavy silence after that, and he almost wishes he could take it back, because fuck- why the hell does he always open his stupid mouth?  But Eddie is staring up at him, his eyes large and full of awe, and Richie wants to capture that look, memorize it and bring it up in his mind when he's feeling low and worthless.  When he lets the voice in the back of his mind win that feeds him a constant stream of bullshit.

 

He ducks down, and there's a weight to their kiss when their lips slot together, a layer that wasn't there earlier.  It pulls him in further, drags his heart out to the surface, until he feels raw as their mouths meld and their hands wander over each other.  The fluttering in his stomach starts up, growing stronger as they sink into one another, and it's almost too much- a sensory overload, because he can feel  _everything_.  Eddie's hot, lush mouth, his soft, clean shirt, his comfortable sweats, and his warm, dry skin- and he can taste the ice cream he had earlier, sweet strawberry, and he can  _hear_  the way his own heart is pounding away inside him.   

 

His body gets ahead of his mind, all the heat in his skin rushing low and pooling between his legs.  He can feel himself grow against Eddie's inner thigh, friction that drives him crazy as Eddie's legs lock around him.  It's all he can do to keep himself from rolling his hips down, but then Eddie groans in his ear, gasps out " _Rich_ ," in a silky, needy voice that makes Richie's head spin, and he loses himself.   

 

Retreating, he sits up and pulls Eddie with him, dragging him into his lap and pausing at the surprise in Eddie's eyes.  He looks a little nervous, glancing down between their bodies, biting his lip uncertainly.   

 

"Is this okay?"  Richie asks, his hands kneading the stiff muscles in Eddie's back, digging into a spot that makes Eddie gasp and nod hurriedly.  Eddie settles over him, a leg on either side of his hips, and then they're kissing frantically.  Richie's skin is on fire, his pulse beating loud in his ears, Eddie's harsh breaths blowing over his skin as he sucks on Richie's neck.  God- he  _loves_  it, loves Eddie getting lost in this, in  _them_ , in their need for each other and for more.  And Richie needs more-  _wants_  more, wants to make Eddie feel something new and incredible.   

 

His voice comes out embarrassingly rough as he gasps out, " _Fuck_ ,  _Eds- I wanna touch you_ ," and Eddie clutches him tighter, fingers digging into his biceps as Richie's hips twitch upward.  " _Can I touch you_?"   

 

Eddie's eyes are hooded and black, his lips red and his neck shining with Richie's saliva- and the sight of him makes Richie ache even more.  It feels like he's holding his breath, staring into Eddie's lustful eyes, and in those few moments he has for his head to clear a little, he realizes that what he said might be bringing up a bad memory.  He's about to open his mouth, start apologizing- but then Eddie looks down, and Richie does the same.  He watches, fascinated, as Eddie takes his hand and places it over himself with shaking fingers, and he wraps his arms around Richie's neck, buries his face against his throat.   

 

Richie doesn't move right away.  "Eds," he murmurs, turning to press a kiss against Eddie's hair.  "Are you  _sure_?"   

 

He feels Eddie nod.  "Y-Yeah," he whines, and that's all that Richie needs.   

 

Carefully, Richie slides his hand inside, closing his eyes as his fingers make contact with hot flesh and damp fabric.  Fuck, he can't  _believe_  this is happening.  It's another thing he's imagined, what Eddie might feel like here, and now he's finding out, as his palm touches him and pulls him out into the open.  Eddie hisses, and Richie closes his long fingers around the hard, sticky skin, and he starts to move his hand. He can't contain himself enough to take it slow, or worry about his own body’s needs; all he can take in are Eddie's high moans, his shivering breath, his hands as they grab at Richie's shirt and hold on tightly.  Eddie is panting his name, syllables broken by each whine, then muffled when he bites down on Richie’s shoulder.

 

Eddie’s legs clench tight, and then he shudders and spills between them, hips jolting as Richie holds him through it. Richie smashes their lips together to keep some of the noise quiet, and he’s still hard, still breathing hard as he leans back to take care of it himself. But Eddie's hands are pulling his jeans open, dipping into his boxers and making him drop his head back and groan at the first touch.  There's no time to properly react, he just lets Eddie do as he pleases, so high up in ecstasy at the feeling of Eddie's hand on him.  He can't think clearly enough to do anything but enjoy it, and he falls onto his back as the tension through his body breaks.  Pleasure rocks through him and he squeezes his eyes closed, covering his mouth with his forearm to smother the long, low groan that would undoubtedly be heard through the walls.  

 

When Richie is able to breathe and think properly again, he looks down and sees Eddie sprawled out on top of him. His head is on Richie’s chest, and he’s nuzzling Richie’s shirt, and Richie touches his cheek gently to get his attention.  Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and they are sated and relaxed, just like the rest of him. God- even after what they just did- which was undeniably hot- Eddie is still so damn adorable.  The need to kiss Eddie overwhelms him, so Richie pulls him up, brings their mouths together slow and languid, and touches Eddie’s hair with his clean hand.  He’s still a little dazed, but not enough to forget that Eddie will probably kill him if he gets him dirty that way.

 

Drawing back, he stares into Eddie’s eyes, smiling, and then laughing along when Eddie starts to giggle uncontrollably.  “What is so funny?” he asks, cleaning himself off on the hem of his shirt.

 

Eddie shrugs, but his eyes are lit up with whatever is going through his head. “Nothing, just,” he sits up, glaring down at his hand and making a face at the mess.  “That was… intense.”

 

“Understatement.”

 

“I never thought about doing anything like that before.”

 

Pushing himself up, Richie looks over Eddie's disheveled clothes, his messy hair, the sweat drying on his skin- and fuck, Eddie is just so damn beautiful.  It chokes him up a little bit as he says, “It was okay, wasn’t it?”

 

Eddie snorts, wipes his hand off on his sweats.  “ _Understatement_.”

 

There’s a thought in the back of Richie’s mind, that maybe Eddie isn’t being completely honest with him.  It’s probably his own dumb ass worrying about everything, but he has to make sure.  “You’re sure, right? I don’t wanna, you know, make you feel uncomfortable, or push you into anything.”  

 

Brows furrowing, Eddie says, “Why would I feel like that? You’re not.”

 

Sometimes Richie hates it when he can’t get his thoughts together, especially when it’s important.  “Because… I don’t know, just- _everything_? I just want you _so_ much, and I don’t want to force that on you- and then the stuff that’s happened, too.”

 

“You mean with Sam?”

 

Looking away, Richie nods, and he feels like complete shit bringing up something he has no business mentioning.  “I’m sorry- _fuck_ , I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have- just forget it…”

 

Silence follows, and Richie doesn’t dare lift his head to see how Eddie is looking at him.  He’s afraid- he doesn’t want to see fear, or disgust, or anger directed at him, even if he deserves it.

 

“Rich, look at me,” Eddie says, and Richie feels warm hands on his chin, sliding back to hold his jaw, thumb caressing his bottom lip.  He lifts his head, relieved to see nothing but a gentle look in Eddie’s eyes.  “Listen, okay?”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“ _Stop_. Listen to me.”

 

“Okay…”

 

“I _don’t_ feel like I’m being pushed,” Eddie tells him, firmly.  “It’s… it’s too much, sometimes.  And I can’t think, when you’re touching me, or kissing me.”

 

“Isn’t that bad?”

 

“No, it’s not,” Eddie leans in, rests their foreheads together.  “I trust you.”

 

Richie embraces him, dragging Eddie forward so there is no room between their chests.  He’s heard Eddie say this before, but it feels new.  Different.  “Eds…”

 

“I know you won’t hurt me,” Eddie goes on, and he kisses Richie’s temple, then his cheek.  “You never have.  You’ve _always_ been so good to me, even though we were only friends.”  Eddie moves down, until his lips are hovering over Richie’s, and he huffs a laugh.  “I trust you so much, and it sounds so dumb, but I… I _need_ you.”

 

Richie swears his heart is going to jump right out of him.  “You don’t,” he chokes out, struggling around the emotion catching in his throat.  There’s no way Eddie means this.  Richie’s just… Richie.  Nobody.  He doesn’t count.  “You can’t need me.  I’m just, I’m nothing-“

 

“ _Don’t_ fucking say that,” Eddie cuts him off heatedly, staring deep into his eyes, right into _everything_ he is.  “You’re _not_ nothing.  You’re- Rich, you’re _everything_. You do so much for me all the time.”

 

Something pricks at the corner of Richie’s eye, and he blinks a few times, alarmed when his already blurred vision swims even more.  He’s got tears gathering quickly, threatening to spill over and out him for the pathetic mess that he is.  God- why is he fucking crying?  What does Eddie even see in him?  “That’s not true, Eds.  I’m _shit_.”

 

Eddie sighs, then dives in, kissing him hard, frustration weaving into the movement.  “It is true,” Eddie breathes when he pulls away, leaving only a few inches between them.  “You take care of me, you’re always there for me and I just- I need you _so_ much.”

 

Richie falls back when Eddie kisses him again, taking Eddie down with him and holding on as he melts into it.  He slips his hands up the back of Eddie’s shirt, just to feel his skin, just to feel the warmth under his palms and the shiver that runs through Eddie’s form.  The words that always seem to be lying in wait are dying to come out, to burst from him and make him sound like a fool.   _I love you,_ his mind screams, _I love you so much._ And he almost says it, is so close to letting it out, but he reels it all in, shoves it all back down.

 

“I need you, too,” Richie gasps out instead.  "I need you, Eds.  I need you.  _I need you_."   

 

They kiss until they can't breathe, and Richie pours his heart into it, hoping that Eddie can feel everything he can't bring himself to say.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)  
> Please let me know about the age thing, even if you want to do it on anon over on tumblr, that's fine. My tumblr is:  
> [reddiepop](https://reddiepop.tumblr.com/)  
> I am going to be starting the Monster Hunter fic pretty soon. I have the first chapter stuck in my head, and it's probably interfering with this fic a little bit. I might write it out just so I can finish this up in peace. Anyway- I'll be posting it here and on tumblr. I'm going to try and keep the chapters much shorter. I don't want them to go past 8000 words or so. That might be too long for tumblr, though... oh well? I'm gonna do what I want. It's called "Nothing Else Matters", and if I change my mind ( I will, several times) I will put it in the notes of my next update for anyone who is interested :)


	7. Heartbreak Beat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry this took so long. I'm doing something different with these next two chapters, and then the last one is going to be in the same format. This chapter is completely from Eddie's POV. It was getting way too long to fit into one. Richie's part is going to be long, too, and I do not want to post a 20K word chapter. I know you guys like the long chapters, but even 20K is pushing it. I've read amazing fics that are one-shots, and have an entire story put in there that are less words than that.  
> Also, thanks so much for all the encouragement guys! It's an ongoing battle. I hate my writing mostly, but doesn't everybody hate their own writing?  
> Anyway, I hope you guys like this. I'm completely certain and terrified that this is disappointing. I'm not happy with it.  
> I'm sorry if there are any errors. I'll go through it and look for them later.

It hurts a little bit to see the unexpectedly wonderful holiday weekend come to an end when the alarm clock starts blaring early Monday morning.  It screams from the nightstand, just a little too far out of reach, and Eddie rolls away from the warmth of Richie's arms just to make it shut up.  It's cold, and he burrows back under the heavy comforter once he slaps his hand down on the snooze button, snuggling against Richie's chest and shivering lightly. 

 

It's only been a little over a week and he's already used to sleeping next to Richie.  This simple, unexplainable joy can't erase everything that's happened over the past couple months, but it soothes the ache in his chest, just enough for him to get through the day.  Being like this with Richie is more than he ever believed it could be, more than he ever dared dream it be.  It sounds incredibly stupid in his head, but it's almost like he's starting to heal a little bit, even though there is still so much wrong around him.  The wounds he can't see, or touch- they sting like they're new so often- but maybe they won't feel this way forever.  At least, with Richie as his support, it's something he's starting to believe.

 

As Eddie forces himself up to get ready for school, he glances back at Richie's sleeping form, his skin glowing in the warm wash of lamp light, lips parted around soft snores that sound slightly congested.  He wonders how much hurt Richie hides from him, how much pain he shoulders and carries on, always there when Eddie needs him, the way he was there when Stan needed him, too.  The bit he glimpsed over the weekend has stayed with him since, and he thinks of it as he goes through his morning routine, unable to shove away Richie's rough, sad words that cut Eddie deeply. 

 

_You can't need me.  I'm just- I'm nothing._  

 

On the way to school Eddie replays them over and over, can't stop seeing the dark look in Richie's eyes, how much he must believe those words to be true.  Their hands are clasped together in the center, Richie's callused thumb running over his knuckles, Journey playing on the stereo as they go through the foggy streets, and all Eddie wants to do is turn back around and go home.  At home he can put on a movie, cuddle up under a blanket with Richie and one of the dogs, and hide from the world of responsibility for a little longer. 

 

Richie parks near the back of the student lot, not in his usual spot, and he shuts the engine off, turning to Eddie and touching his arm.  Eddie feels the hesitance there, and it makes him sit up and pay attention.  "There's something I didn't tell you," Richie begins, voice low in the small space of the car.  "I didn't mean to keep it from you, I just... I don't know how many people saw." 

 

Uneasiness settles over Eddie's shoulders.  "Saw what?" 

 

Richie tells him about the kiss, and Eddie lowers his head, his stomach twisting crudely around the tight ball of anxiety that descends from his chest.   _Fuck_ \- he doesn't remember much of the party, and he's been glad for that over the past few days, but now he wishes he hadn't been so ignorant.  He just wanted to forget about everything for a night- his mom, Sam, the uncertain future getting closer each day.  It's all so much to deal with.  He can't just- he can't deal with this now, too.  What the hell was he thinking? 

 

Richie's arm goes around his shoulders, squeezing him gently, and Eddie tries to shove down the sudden fear rushing through him.  "Eds," Richie's voice murmurs in his ear.  "It's gonna be fine." 

 

Eddie turns to him, scoffing when he sees how nervous Richie looks, the uncertainty thick and tangible in the space around them.  "You're  _kidding_ , right?"

 

Sighing, Richie's thumb and forefinger pinch the space between his brows, just above his glasses, and he says, "I'm not kidding, I'm just-" he drops his head back against the rest, eyes looking up at the ceiling, and Eddie feels Richie's fingers start to drum on his bicep.  "Look- what are we supposed to do?  Sit here, scared?  Not go to school?" 

 

"No, but-"

 

"We have to just  _go_  in there, and fucking deal with whatever happens." 

 

Eddie knows he's right, but it does nothing to ease the sick feeling rippling through his limbs. 

 

Things seem to be fine through the morning, first and second period dragging like normal, Stan acting like his usual self in home ec.  Eddie even finds himself smiling when Stan teases him about Richie, dropping his tone to mimic his voice, calling him "Bed Eds" and "Spaghetti lover", and they both snort when Stan hunches over and pretends to play the guitar.  It's nice, and Eddie realizes he misses spending one on one time with Stan.  They used to join Ben at the library most weekends, so they could all get their projects and assignments done ahead of time and compare their answers.  But Stan didn't show up the first weekend after Ben moved away, and Eddie waited at the library for hours, alone, working slowly through all his homework and mourning the loss of his peaceful Saturdays. 

 

Eddie has never mentioned this to Stan, and he doesn't now, either, too busy glancing over his shoulder in the hallway when he hears someone shout "queer" as he's walking by.  It might not be directed at him, but that doesn't stop his ears from growing hot and the pit of his stomach dropping like it is.  He doesn't usually pay much attention when he hears those words flung around at school, but he's listening, now.

 

Richie smiles at him in the hallway, and it hurts not to go to him, to touch him, to kiss him softly and hold his hand.  Eddie is already addicted to him, and he hates that he can't go to him like he wants to, like he  _needs_  to.  A reckless part of him wants to do it anyway, just go up to Richie and kiss him, right in the middle of the hall, and let everyone call him a fag or a queer, or anything else because it shouldn't matter.  He's so damn scared, still wondering what the hell might happen, if  _anything_  is going to happen, if anyone is going to approach him and ask him about the party that he can't remember.

 

He can't stop fidgeting all through fourth period, so damn eager to get to lunch just to see Richie again.  It's a little ridiculous; he's been with Richie all weekend, hasn't been apart from him since he moved into Bev's house, except to go to work.  Even though he tells himself to relax, he keeps turning around in his seat, checking the clock every five minutes, his skin itching to get up and go.  He all but runs out of the classroom when the bell rings, nearly leaving Mike behind before he forces himself to stop and slow down.  If he looks too eager, someone is going to notice.

 

"Do you work tonight?" Bev asks him once he, Mike and Stan are all seated at their chosen table.  Richie is running a little late, which isn’t unusual.  He'll forget his money, his textbooks, or something else out in his car, and he has to run out to the student lot between classes. 

 

Eddie nods, shooting a look over his shoulder at the doors leading out into the courtyard.  "At five.  Why?" 

 

Bev finishes chewing on a mouthful of pizza, and she says, "I wanted to make a sweater for myself.  I need you to be my mannequin." 

 

Eddie glances down at himself, then at Bev.  They used to be the same height and size for a long time, until he hit a growth spurt sometime last year, and his body started to fill out.  "Are you sure?  I’m not as small as I used to be." 

 

"Eds has got some muscle, now,” Mike says, winking playfully at Eddie, and Eddie rolls his eyes, smiling when Bev smacks Mike on the shoulder and glares at him. 

 

"You should use Richie," Stan suggests, his hand moving quickly over what looks like something for English.  Probably a summary.  "He's got those sticks for arms.  I mean, you guys are about the same size, right?"

 

"Yeah, but his arms are too long."  Bev looks off thoughtfully, and then her eyes go wide, and Eddie follows her line of sight.  "Oh, shit.  I think there’s a fight." 

 

There's a group forming in the courtyard, shouting and closing in around a space close to one of the halls.  Eddie always ignores fights, doesn't really care for them- but something squirms in his stomach- a sick feeling, and it gets worse as he glances to his right to Richie's empty seat.  Richie has been in a few fights, besides the fight he had with Sam, the most serious occurred during their sophomore year when a psychotic asshole wouldn't leave Eddie alone.  Richie happened to be there when a fight broke out, and the guy slammed Richie's head on the ground so hard Richie ended up with a concussion.  Luckily, he was fine, and the asshole got expelled.

 

But Richie isn't much of a fighter, even though he’ll do it if he’s pushed into one.  He doesn't care for the unnecessary conflict.

 

Jumping to his feet, Eddie heads out the doors, and he can hear Bev, Stan and Mike following him.  He just needs to make sure it's not Richie.  He wouldn't be worried, not usually, but today is different.  Because Eddie is an idiot, and because of _him_ people know about them.  And he just- he  _needs_  to see, he needs to be _sure_ -

 

By the time he's pushing his way through the students, things seem to be over.  The principal is shouting something, and there's some swearing coming from a couple of guys.  People start to move away, and Eddie makes it to the front, and his stomach sinks terribly when he sees Richie pushing himself up off the ground, his lip busted open, his nose bleeding a little bit, his clothes all scuffed up and the skin over his elbow broken open.  And across from him, being escorted away by Mr. Baylor, is Josh Dickwad and a couple of his friends. 

 

Eddie moves forward to go to Richie, but Mike grabs him and holds him back, grip firm on his upper arm as Eddie turns to look at him incredulously.  "What- let me go, Mike-"

 

Just then Stan comes forward, and he looks disgusted, uncomfortable, and he's glaring hard at Josh Dickwad and his group.  "I think they jumped him," he says, his voice low and dangerous.  "I asked Anthony Cole." 

 

Bev stands on Eddie's other side, slips her arm around his back as Mike lets him go.  "What'd he say?"

 

"That Josh called Richie a queer and hit him," Stan's nostrils flare, and he looks at Eddie meaningfully.  "Then his friends got in it, too." 

 

Mike gives Eddie an apologetic look, says, "You shouldn’t get in it.  I didn’t mean to grab you like that." 

 

"It's fine, it's-" Eddie takes a deep breath, watches as Richie walks off beside the principal, and he has to keep breathing to keep himself as calm as he possibly can.  This is all his fault.  If he hadn't been such a dumbass at the party, then no one would know about anything.  "Fuck.   _Fuck_." 

 

"It’s not your fault," Mike says, like the mind-reader he is.  "You better not start blaming yourself." 

 

Eddie doesn't reply, just heads toward the principal's office to wait.  Bev, Mike and Stan follow him, and he paces outside of the doors, the hallway emptying slowly as the last bell rings to begin fifth period.  He's mad.  No- he's  _pissed_.  Who the hell does that asshole think he is?  A hot swell of anger grows in his chest, and Eddie ignores Stan when he tells him to sit down, and Bev when she gets up and tries to put an arm around him.  Mike goes off to class after a few minutes, because he has a test he can't miss, and Stan follows him, too, leaving only Bev and himself. 

 

They sit quietly together, not for very long, and when Richie emerges through the heavy doors, letting them fall shut as he glances around, Eddie gets up and goes to him.  He resists hugging him, like he desperately wants to, and he stares up at the small cut on Richie's cheekbone, his fingers twitching to reach up and run his thumb beneath it.  "Rich," he says, voice small and shaky. 

 

Richie smiles as he favors his left shoulder, stepping aside as the door flies open and Mr. Baylor comes rushing out.  None of them say anything as the English teacher saunters off, huffing something under his breath about stupid teenagers and idiot boys. 

 

"You okay?"  Bev asks once Mr. Baylor is gone, touching Richie's shoulder gently.

 

Richie rolls his arm, then stands up straighter, shrugging his right shoulder as he reaches out and touches Eddie's chin.  "I'll live." 

 

Eddie sighs, not bothering to glance around, leaning into Richie's hand when it moves up and over his cheek.  "Rich, I’m sorry, this is my fau-"

 

"Fucking stop," Richie steps forward, both hands on Eddie's face, smoothing his thumb under Eddie's eye.  " _Don't_  blame yourself.  That guy's a dick either way.  Probably would have happened sooner or later." 

 

"Maybe not."  Eddie wants to move forward, wants to wrap his arms around Richie's waist and inhale the scent of smoke and dryer sheets, the smell that always brings him so much comfort.  He knows they’re pushing it already, and even though he's spent most of the day afraid, he doesn't care now.  "You didn't get suspended, did you?" 

 

"No.  Just got a warning." 

 

Bev rolls her eyes, says, "That prick should get suspended." 

 

The cut on Richie's lip isn't bleeding anymore, and his nose is clean and dry, but Eddie can't shake the need to do  _something_.  He holds back, and he hates this stupid, small, idiot town more than he ever has.  "Do you want to ditch?" 

 

Richie doesn't want to- he's got something he needs to finish up in wood shop, and Eddie knows he really shouldn't be skipping class, anyway.  They go their separate ways, Bev and Richie heading down the opposite end of the hall while Eddie trudges off to what's left of fifth, dreading the rest of the day and the looks he's probably going to receive. 

 

All through his last class he keeps glancing around, catching eyes quickly looking away when he spots them, a couple girls whispering and gesturing in his direction.  He still doesn't care a whole lot, but he doesn't want any more problems.  He just wants to go home and hide in his room with Richie, and forget about the rest of the town, and the people, and skip forward in time to graduation night.  If only they could leave now, maybe finish up high school somewhere else- but Richie is still seventeen, and he can't just leave.  He won't be eighteen until March, and by then, what's the point? 

 

When the bell rings Eddie hurries out of the classroom, gets to his locker and switches his things out without meeting any eyes.  He feels the weight of stares, but he's not going to acknowledge them.  There are other things he needs to be focused on, like getting all his homework done tonight after work, setting time aside to start looking at schools in California, though he's not even sure what area to focus on.  Richie just says "LA", each time he asks, but Eddie thinks that maybe they should try somewhere else, first.  Somewhere not as big, like San Francisco. 

 

He's shutting his locker when he hears the voice of Josh Dickwad coming from somewhere behind him.  Eddie shrugs his backpack over his shoulder, turning around to see the asshole strutting down the hall, not too far, surrounded by a group of his dumbass friends.  Eddie's eyes narrow when he hears them laughing, sees Josh Dickwad throw his arms up over his head in a protective way- and Eddie isn't an idiot, he knows that this fucker is talking about Richie and the fight.  What else could he be describing?  And Eddie feels a hot swell of anger in his chest, and his legs start moving on their own, and he's hurrying after him, shoving his way past a couple of people who won't move, pushing the door open that leads to the front steps-

 

He sees Josh Dickwad descend the stairs, and he goes after him; he's not sure what he wants to do, not sure what he's thinking.  All he knows is that he's fucking  _pissed_ \- and he hasn't felt this angry in a long time.  That anger fuels him as he throws his backpack off to the side, rushing the last few steps between him and Josh Dickwad, and Eddie doesn't think about it, doesn't consider what might happen after he does this- he doesn't even gather all his strength, just shoves Josh Dickwad in the back, sending him stumbling forward a few steps, and now there's no taking it back. 

 

Josh Dickwad turns around, and Eddie can see a bruise forming over his cheek, where Richie must have got a hit in, and he's savagely proud of that.  He's probably going to get his ass kicked right now, but he doesn't care.  He doesn't hear much of what Josh Dickwad is saying, something like "Seriously?  You fucking queers are asking for it, aren't you?" and Eddie isn't about to engage him in any exchange of words.  He just wants to- he wants to  _hit_ , and cause pain, and it's such a stupid thing to do, but he disconnects from himself, gives himself over to the shaking in his limbs as he moves in and  _attacks_. 

 

It's a blur of movement, and Eddie feels his fist connect with something solid, hears a grunt and then fingers close over his arm- and Eddie lashes out, snatching Josh Dickwad by the head and dragging him down.  And he's not seeing this asshole anymore, not hearing the shouts of his peers around him, bringing his fist down over the back of his head over and over and over again, each impact shooting a sharp stab of pain through his knuckles.  It's not Josh anymore- it's not a bully or some jerk at school- he sees black hair and glasses, cold, emotionless eyes, feels weight bear down on him as his back hits the ground.  He's overpowered, and he panics, dragging his nails down over his attacker's face, thrusting the heel of his hand up and right into his nose-

 

There's blood, and swearing, and a hard punch to his side knocks him breathless- and then he's not sure how, but he's on top of his attacker, and he's slamming his fist down over his nose as hard as he can, as fast as he can, ignoring the ache in his ribs and the pounding in the back of his head where he thinks he might have hit the concrete.  None of that matters.  He's going to hurt Sam.  He's going to hurt him the same way he's been hurt- he's going to break his face, and break his soul, and maybe his hands, too, so he can never touch another person again. 

 

Eddie is lifted off of his attacker, strong, immovable arms locked around his waist, and he kicks out, screaming to be let down, prying at the person who is taking this away from him.  He wants to do more, to hurt more, to break more skin-

 

"Eddie, Eddie, stop- fucking  _stop_ , come on!"

 

It's Mike's voice in his ear, and that wakes him up, pulls him out of his head, and he sees everything around him clearly; it's Josh Dickwad on the ground, his nose broken open, blood spilling down over his mouth and his chest, staining the concrete and Eddie's fingernails.  And all the sound comes back at once, and the volume to each voice shakes his eardrums; the principal is there, and a couple teachers, and they're all around Josh on the ground.  Bev and Stan are somewhere to his left, and they're arguing over something, their voices louder than anything else, but he's not catching what they're saying, and he wants to tell them to please shut up, because his head is hurting, and his hands are sore and shaking, and he's not sure if he can stay standing now that his blood is no longer rushing through him. 

 

Eddie is screamed at to get to the principal's office, and he obeys without question, escorted by Mike on shaking legs.  He doesn't know where Richie is, and he wants to be with him, to feel Richie's arms around his shoulders instead of Mike's, but he knows he's in deep shit, so he doesn't look around for him. 

 

The principal's office is hot inside, and he's forced to sit beside Josh Dickwad once his nose stops bleeding.  Principal Heckler is raising his voice, screaming at Josh, "Twice in one day, Mr. Dickson?   _Twice_?  What the hell is wrong with you?"  And he starts in on Eddie, too, "Your record is nearly  _flawless_ , Mr. Kaspbrak- you're never in here for fighting.  What the hell happened?"  But Eddie has no answers, doesn't want to open his mouth and give any explanation, because now that he's able to get a good look at Josh, he can see how much damage he's caused.  Josh's eye is darkening, the skin around it is turning purple, and his lip is cut open, his nose crooked with blood still drying over his neck and his shirt. 

 

"I have to suspend you, Eddie." 

 

Eddie doesn't really care.  

 

"You caused too much damage- he has to go to the hospital.  You broke his nose!" 

 

He should feel bad, but he just doesn't. 

 

"Three days, Mr. Kaspbrak.  We'll see you back on Friday." 

 

Eddie leaves when Principal Heckler starts in on Josh, ducking through the doorway as he hears his angry, raised voice start to carry out into the hall.  His hand is starting to ache, and his ribs are sore where he must have been hit pretty hard.  All he wants to do now is go home and rest, the adrenaline rush of the fight leaving him exhausted and sad.

 

Stepping out into cold, Eddie is immediately wrapped up in Bev's arms, her easy, quiet comfort easing the anxiety building in his chest.  It presses outward, then squeezes, and Eddie hugs her back tightly. 

 

"You okay?"  She asks, flanked by Stan and Mike, Richie hovering a few feet behind them.  "You get suspended?"

 

Eddie nods, quickly tells them all what the principal said, his eyes fixed on Richie as he speaks.  Richie is watching him sadly, his split lip scabbed over, and the bruise on his cheek darker than it was earlier; he wants to go to him, not give a damn what anyone around thinks or says- but the paranoia springs anew in his gut, and he remains where he is until they all set out toward the student lot. 

 

He's not paying too close attention as Bev and Stan go back and forth about Eddie's suspension.  Whatever they think of it doesn't really matter now- he'll still be suspended at the end of the day, so why argue about it?  They go their separate ways, Bev tagging along with Mike and Stan as Eddie climbs in to Richie's car; he rubs at his sore fist, hissing as he disturbs broken skin over his knuckles. 

 

Richie's head drops back for a moment, drawing Eddie's eye to a bruise spreading over the side of his throat, the shape of fingertips standing out starkly against his pale skin.  It pisses him off all over again, but he keeps his anger back, reaching out instead and gently touching the painful looking marks. 

 

"Holy fuck."  Richie turns to him, brows rising over the frame of his glasses.  "Shit.   _Shit_ , you fucked him up." 

 

Eddie can't think of anything to say except, "I didn't mean to."  It's true- he doesn't like to fight if he can avoid it, but this time he couldn't just stand there and let Josh Dickwad get away with the shit he pulled.  Maybe he shouldn't have thrown the first hit, but he's not sorry.  "He deserved it."

 

Richie nods slowly, turning the key over and wincing at the car's rough start.  "They shouldn't have suspended you.  That's just bullshit." 

 

"I don't care." 

 

Richie drives away from the school, his fingers tapping restlessly over the steering wheel, a cigarette pulled out of some pocket in his jacket.  "I know you don't, okay?  I know that.  But just-  _fuck_ , what if he hurt you?" 

 

It's possible- Josh could have hurt him badly if Eddie was an idiot.  "He didn't, though.  I'm  _fine_." 

 

The car turns right on the street leading to Bev's neighborhood, speeding up in sync with the clenching of Richie's jaw.  "Why can't we just-" Richie starts, exhaling deeply as he glances in Eddie's direction.  "Why can't we have five fucking minutes of peace?  Fucking assholes keep screwing with us." 

 

Eddie looks up as they make a left down Bev's street, his eyes immediately going to the car parked under the tree in her yard, that overshadows the street with overgrown limbs.  It's his mom's car; his stomach turns at the sight of her head through the back window, a groan leaving him as he swears.  "Why the hell is she here?" 

 

Richie doesn't glance at him, just slows down as they approach the house.  "You want me to keep going?" 

 

He should say no and stop, just to see what she wants, but Eddie finds himself nodding, turning away from staring at her and looking at Richie meaningfully.  "Keep going." 

 

The car speeds past the house, Eddie sparing a quick glance back as Richie reaches over and squeezes his sore knuckles. 

 

: : : :

 

It's the first time Eddie's ever been suspended, so he's not sure what to do with the three days stretching out before him.  He helps Bev's aunt clean out the single car garage during the late morning of his first day, laughing with her as photo albums are unearthed, old toys, year books, and a couple boxes full of dresses he's sure Bev would swear she never wore as a child. 

 

The second day goes by uneventfully, and on the third, Eddie works an earlier shift, two to six, and as he glances at the clock hung low on the wall behind the front desk, he's relieved to see that it's half past five already.  It's the kind of day that has flown by, where he's so wrapped up in his work that he hasn't had time to simply watch the clock and wish for the end.  It's a good thing, too, because he's pretty eager to get home and get what's left of his homework done so he can be ready to go back to school tomorrow. 

 

Reaching up to the second highest shelf, Eddie slides a book in place and wonders how tomorrow will go.  He'll be stared at for sure, probably whispered about, maybe sought out for another round since Josh Dickwad was given the same punishment as him.  He hasn't thought much about the fight, and honestly, he's been afraid to.  From the way Richie described, he must have been out of his mind with rage.  It's a blank moment in his mind- he can't recall what he was thinking, or feeling, just the impact of his punches and the warmth of blood spilling over his hands. 

 

Eddie shelves the last book on his cart and heads back up front, jumping on one of the little registers and helping Ms. Inglewood, who is bombarded with a line of what look like preschoolers.  He gets them all checked out, smiling as they giggle and hold on to their books, laughing amongst each other while following a group of women out the doors.  His gaze passes over a group of his peers sitting at a table with their heads together, a few books left out on the edge, and when he glances at the doors again, his stomach twists up. 

 

Sam steps inside the library, standing up straight and tall, his shoulders unburdened by the things that he's done, his clothes neat and pressed- unaffected.  Unremorseful.  And Eddie- Eddie drops the couple books in his hands, starts to pray he hasn't been spotted as he ducks down behind the desk to pick them up.   _Fuck_ \- he can't hide here.  He's basically off now, and he needs to get out of here before Sam gets a chance to say anything to him. 

 

Ms. Inglewood shoots him a strange look as he stands up again, glancing around and spotting Sam disappearing between the rows near the non-fiction section.  It's his chance.  He snatches his backpack out of the nook between the two front desks, swings it over his shoulder, and heads for the front doors.  It barely crosses his mind that he should let Ms. Inglewood know he's leaving, but the sudden fear gripping his insides propels him forward, drives that minor concern from his mind.  He doesn't look left or right, focuses solely on the door, his pulse beating in his ears, his hands shaking as they reach out and push the heavy door open. 

 

The cold air slaps him, and he veers left into the darkness, off to the side street where he's parked Richie's car.  He hurries, walks faster, breathing quick and short with each step, the back of his neck prickling.  He digs the keys out of his pocket, swings around the rear of the car, doesn't dare look up.  Fuck- his hand is shaking, and he's got the key ready, the metal clinking against the keyring as his fingers tremble hard.  He needs to leave.  He needs to go  _now_ - 

 

"Hello, Eddie." 

 

Eddie jumps, turns around, and the keys nearly slip from his hand.  Sam is standing there, in front of the car, and he moves, comes closer, his steps careful and measured. 

 

Eddie glances behind him; there's no one around.  The street is mostly dark, the light on the corner by the stop sign not quite reaching where he's parked.  He's scared, and he can't hide it.  He wishes he had let Richie drive him now, but he's been learning to drive a manual transmission, and he just wanted to get some practice in.  Richie wanted to give him a ride like he usually does, but Eddie was adamant; why-  _why_  is he so stubborn?  Why is he so  _stupid_? 

 

"L-Leave," he says, his voice choked off, his throat going dry as he breathes in the cold air.  "Leave me alone."   

 

Sam stops several feet away, the side mirror a small barrier between them, offering no protection.  "I just want to talk," he says, lifting his hands up in the air, a placating gesture that does nothing to lower Eddie's guard.  "I've been thinking about you a lot.  I've been," he pauses, looks Eddie up and down, and licks his lips.  "I've been worried."   

 

Eddie doesn't respond, his skin crawling at the look in Sam's eyes.  He presses himself back against the car door, screaming at his legs to move, to turn him around so he can get in.  This up close, he can see there are dark circles under Sam's eyes, his skin is pale and sallow, the whites of his eyes tinged pink.  His eyes alone make Eddie feel uneasy- there's something there he hasn't seen before.  Some new layer of _wrong_.  

 

"Are you being treated well?"  Sam goes on, eyes widening as he steps forward, around the mirror.  "I know you're staying with your friend now- the red-head."

 

Eddie's not surprised that he already knows, but it makes him want to hug himself all the same.  "That's _not_ your business," he says, his voice trembling as he spits the words out. 

 

"I want to help," Sam tells him, his voice even, calm.  Emotionless.  "If you let me, I can take care of you.  I want to take care of you."  

 

He needs to go.  He shouldn't be- he shouldn't respond at all, but he's pissed.  He's _enraged_.  "Fuck _off_ ," he snaps, the words erupting from him before he can stop them.  " _You_ got me kicked out of my _house_!"  

 

Sam looks away, and he exhales a laugh.  A _laugh_ \- like it's not that important.  Like it was all some simple mistake.  "That wasn't my intention."  

 

 

_Don't engage,_ Eddie tells himself.  He needs to turn around, get in the car, and drive away.  "Just-" he takes a breath, tries to calm himself down.  "Leave me alone.  Stay away from me-"  

  

"You can live with me," Sam cuts him off, and he reaches out, just shy of touching Eddie's arm, and Eddie recoils, but there's nowhere to go.  "I have a big house.  You'd have a huge room all to yourself." 

 

Eddie scoffs, but he's shaking now, glancing from side to side, hoping someone will walk by, even though he knows it won't help anything.  They won't care.  "Just leave me alone." 

 

Sam moves a little closer, his hand grasping Eddie's arm, fingers tightening over his bicep.  "No," he says, squeezing, his voice dropping lower.  "I don't _want_ to." 

 

Eddie can't look away from his eyes- they are dark, and hard, and he's scared.  He's fucking terrified.  He needs to move, just leave and- and what if Sam knows where Bev lives?  He probably already does, has probably followed him home at some point since he moved in.  He can run, maybe- but Sam can easily catch up with him.  He's a fast runner, but Sam's legs are long, and he's bigger, and Eddie doesn't want to imagine what could happen if Sam catches him and gets him down on the ground.  

 

A touch against his chest yanks him out of his thoughts, and he jerks back, cornered, looking down at Sam’s fingers, placed in the center of his chest.  They start to move down, slow, dragging over his sweater- no,  _no, no,_  not again.  Not again,  _please_ , not again-

 

Sam is much too close now, not a foot between them, and Eddie's lungs are struggling, squeezing- Sam's fingers keep moving down, following a line down close to his navel- oh god, it's going to happen again- just like at the theater.  And Eddie is frozen, he can't move.  "D-Don't," he manages to say, his hands clenched down by his sides, nails digging painfully into his palms.  But Sam doesn't stop, and his fingers move lower, lower, until they touch the bottom of his shirt, press against the button of his jeans, and Eddie's stomach turns, his chest growing tight.  No.  No.   _No_ -

 

" _Don't_ ," Eddie says again, and he slaps Sam's hand away from him, looking him right in the eyes.  And suddenly, he's back in the fight with Josh again, and he- he wants to  _hit_  Sam, wants to make him hurt the way Eddie hurts.  Wants to cut him deep, break him down, throw his fist into his face as hard as he can.  Make him bleed, and cry, just like Eddie has. 

 

Sam moves back, maybe half a step, mouth turned down at the corners as he glares at his hand.  He stares.  And stares.  His expression darkens with each passing moment- and Eddie stands his ground, doesn't dare move, though the violent feelings are still raging in his chest, mixing in with his fear, creating a storm of things he can't hold in.  He  _hates_  him, he hates Sam so much- everything he's done, everything he's said, all the hell he's brought into Eddie's life- he wishes he could bottle it up, smash it over Sam's head, show him exactly how it all feels. 

 

He's expecting it when Sam lunges for him, but he’s not prepared.  Sam snatches him by the shoulders and pins him against the car, shoving his knee between Eddie’s legs- and Eddie almost lets it happen again.  Panic clutches his chest, and he struggles to breathe, writhing, gasping “ _No_ , _no_ -“ but Sam clutches him hard, presses his larger body down, down over Eddie's smaller frame.  His thoughts turn inward, and he stops struggling, stops fighting back- what's the point?  He's never going to get away from this.  It's bound to happen again.  If he thinks of something else, maybe it won't be like last time. 

 

Sam's mouth comes closer, and Eddie turns away, gets his elbow in front of him.  No- no, he's _not_ going to let this happen.  Not this time.  Eddie places his palms over Sam's chest, struggling, turning his face away again when Sam tries to kiss him, and with all the strength he can gather, he shoves him as hard as he can. 

 

The force knocks Sam down, and he falls back on the pavement, right on his elbows, and it gives Eddie enough time to turn around and jam the key into the lock.  His hands won't stop shaking, and he misses it a few times, not daring to turn and look back.  The key slides in, and he pulls the door open, his brain screaming at him  _Go, go you fucking idiot, get out of here_ \- as he drops down into the driver's seat.  He grabs the door to pull it closed, sees Sam is still on the ground, watching him, his eyes flashing dangerously.  

 

Words spill out of Eddie's mouth before he can stop them, high and frantic.  " _Stay the fuck away from me_!" 

 

The car starts up right away, and he almost pops the clutch pulling away from the curb, his foot struggling for a moment as the car lurches forward.  He turns right on the main street, glancing in the rear-view mirror to see Sam still on the ground, making no move to get up and follow, disappearing from sight as Eddie depresses the gas pedal.  His fingernails are digging into the steering wheel, and his heart is beating rapidly- but, but he's fine.  He's okay.  Nothing happened, even though it could have. 

 

He's fine. 

 

The short drive back is silent.  He can't bring himself to turn on the radio.  His heart is still beating fast, and his fingers are still trembling, but he feels... better.  Not  _completely_  better, but a little lighter than he did before.  Like some hidden, subtle darkness was dragging him down into the earth, and he couldn't see it, could barely feel it.  And now it's... gone. 

 

When he gets home he parks the car out front by the curb, his eyes lingering on the lights shining through the front windows.  All he wants is to go inside and relax, forget about everything that happened, watch some shit movies with Richie and laugh as he recites the lines in his voices.  The last thing he wants to do is talk about this.  But, but he can't keep it to himself, and he especially can't keep it from Richie.  He sighs, gets out of the car, and he drags his feet up the walkway.  

 

Eddie pulls his keys out of his pocket at the front door, turning around when he hears the rumbling of an engine.  Mike pulls up behind Richie's car, waving with a smile as the door swings open.  Bev emerges, grinning, and as she hurries past him, she excitedly tells him that he's got the house to himself, that her aunt left for Portland and took the dogs with her.  He's relieved, because even though he really likes Bev's aunt, and is so damn grateful to her, he's not up to pretending he's feeling okay any time he comes out of his bedroom. 

 

The house is warm, and he goes straight to his room, knowing Richie is in there waiting for him, a sudden eagerness lighting inside him.  He pushes open the door, spots Richie on the bed, knees bent with his head hanging off the end, strumming along on an imaginary guitar to "Ramble On" playing on Eddie's new stereo.  Richie bought it for him a couple days ago, and though Richie has gotten much more use out of it, he absolutely loves it.  

 

"Hey," Richie greets him, grinning upside down at him.  "How was work?" 

 

"Fine," Eddie replies, and he drops his backpack by the door, then heads over to the bed and sits down beside him, kicking his shoes and socks off.  He stretches his back out, rolling his shoulders as his eyes stray over Richie's relaxed position, from his wrinkled, torn jeans, to his black, bunched up shirt, where a hint of pale skin is showing above his waistband. 

 

He scoots closer, listening as Richie starts to tell him about the newest Roseanne episode, but he's not paying attention.  The room is comfortably warm, and dim, the low light of the lamp spilling softly over the bed, a mellow song starting to play on the stereo.  It all should be relaxing, but he feels restless, tense, thinking of some way to bring up what happened with Sam without ruining Richie's good mood.  It's so rare now that Richie is this happy, snorting at some misunderstanding in the episode, animatedly recounting an argument that he and Bev had earlier while they watched it together, and Eddie doesn't want to take that away.  He's fine- there's no reason to bring the mood down.      

 

Eddie spreads out beside him, letting his head hang off the bed, too, and he kicks Richie in the shin, smirking when Richie shoots him a glare.  The shit with Sam can wait, at least for a while.  He wants to have a good night.

 

"You got a problem?"  Richie asks, his eyes bright as he waggles his brows. 

 

Eddie fights back a smile.  "Maybe." 

 

"Maybe?"

 

"Yeah," Eddie nudges him with his elbow.  "With you." 

 

"And what ever did _I_ do?"  Richie gestures to himself, his voice taking on a dramatic edge as he slips into his English Guy accent.  " _I was here the whole night.  The strippers came to me, Eddie dear.  I did not seek their company!_ "  

 

Eddie laughs, rolls his eyes.  "What the fuck are you talking about?"  

 

" _Strippers_."  

 

"But why?"  

 

Richie shrugs, pushing himself up on his elbow to stare down at Eddie, and he drops the English Guy voice.  "Gotta cover my ass.  I am _completely_ loyal to you."  His hand moves toward Eddie's face, and he sighs when Richie's fingers graze over his jaw.  "Unless Mike comes over," Richie says, humming thoughtfully.  "Then uh, I'm sorry, Eds.  I know you want him, too, but I have needs."   

 

"Oh my _god_ ," Eddie exclaims, slapping Richie's shoulder as Richie grabs at his arms.  "You're never letting me live that down, are you?" 

 

"Not a fucking chance!"  Richie gasps out, laughing loudly as Eddie pounces on him.  

 

It's so childish, but Eddie is glad for this distraction.  He pinches Richie's stomach, digs his elbow into his ribs, and shrieks when Richie runs his fingers over his ticklish sides.  This is how things should always be, with no Sam or his mother, no bullshit from idiots at school- just them.  Just this.  

 

Eddie ends up on top of Richie, straddling his waist as he slaps Richie's hands away from his armpits.  He's breathless, flushed, and Richie's hair is a tangled mess spread out all around his head.  And he's just- he's so beautiful.  His bright, laughing eyes, his mischievous grin, so similar to the one Eddie couldn't stop staring at when they were younger.  He brings his palms down, sets them on Richie's abdomen, his thumbs barely touching the strip of skin that's showing where his shirt has ridden up. 

 

A sharp pang of _want_ hits him suddenly, and he clenches his thighs.  It’s weird, isn’t it?  For him to want to touch Richie right now, to get close to him, and inhale the scent of his skin, and feel his hands all over his body- it should be the last thing he wants… right?  He’s not sure why he thinks that, but he unwillingly imagines what could have happened with Sam, if he had remained frozen up, if he hadn’t fought back; would he have been touched again?  Would he have been able to escape, like he did in the theater? 

 

 

Richie’s lifts his head, eyes slowly widening, his hands settling over the tops of Eddie's thighs.  Eddie swallows back the nerves that threaten to overcome him- he can't help it, can't ignore it- he just needs to- to _touch_.  He reaches out, grabs a handful of the front of Richie's shirt, and tugs him up close, eyes fixed on his mouth.  He should stop this and tell Richie about Sam, but- but it can wait, can't it?  

 

Richie chuckles sheepishly, brows rising slightly, his voice cracking as he says, "Wow, uh," he swallows, his tongue darting out, swiping over his bottom lip- and it might as well have been licking over Eddie's skin for how warm it makes him feel.  "Am I dreaming, or is Eddie Spaghetti undressing me with his eyes?"  

 

Eddie doesn't reply.  He just wants to- to  _feel_ , to forget about everything, to get as close as he possibly can- so he dives in, plants his mouth firmly over Richie's, and kisses him hard. 

 

They have kissed passionately, deeply, but they have not yet kissed like this.  Their mouths move together fast, hungry, desperate- and it’s definitely all his fault, because he keeps pushing, tugging, pressing himself against Richie entirely.  And his body burns with need, with desire like he's never felt before, and he has to get _closer_ , needs to feel like he belongs to Richie only.  He has no idea where this is coming from, but it starts to claw at his insides like an itch, and he can't think, doesn't want to stop until he can satisfy this feeling in his skin.  

 

Richie sits up, winds his arms around him, and he touches Eddie gently, his wide palms cradling Eddie’s waist, his lips soft, an attempt to slow things down, to soothe.  But he doesn’t want this- doesn’t want to feel cared for, or safe- he just wants to feel  _raw_ , used, wants to grind down over where Richie is getting hard, needs to scratch and bite and  _bruise_.  He seizes a handful of Richie’s hair and he pulls, tugs his head back until Richie’s neck is bared to him. 

 

“ _Fuck_ , Eds,  _Eds_ -“ Richie gasps out under his mouth, as Eddie drags his teeth down over the line of his throat, biting down once he reaches his pulse.  His skin is hot, and tight, tension driving him on, and he pushes his hips down, swallowing the groan that erupts from Richie’s parted lips.

 

The itch under his skin is getting worse, this urgency doing nothing to satisfy him.  He huffs, frustrated, staring down at Richie’s wide, dark eyes, and his red, abused lips, and he just- he just  _wants_ so damn bad. 

 

“C'mon,” he says, scooting back, back until he falls against the pillows, and then he yanks Richie down on top of him.  Eddie immediately pulls him into a kiss, biting down on Richie’s bottom lip, and the  _sound_  Richie makes- a surprised, needy gasp- it _does_ things to him.  He can’t breathe with how hard Richie kisses him then, can’t think as Richie presses him down, getting quickly between his legs and fitting their hips together.  And Eddie moves with him when Richie starts to grind, his fingers clutching the back of Richie’s shirt, nails digging in to the fabric, sounds leaving him that he can barely understand, littered with phrases and Richie’s name.  He thinks he might be begging, but he’s not sure what he needs.  He just  _needs._   He’s got no reference for this, no previous experience to draw from, no idea what’s going to stop the ache inside- but maybe, if he keeps going, if he lets Richie do more to him than they have before- maybe it will ease the burn. 

 

“Wait, Eds, wait-” Richie murmurs against his neck, pulling back and peering down at him, brows furrowed.  “What- what is this?” he asks, his breath shallow, his glasses tipped slightly to the left, his hair a wreck from Eddie’s rough hands. 

 

Eddie blinks a few times, tries to shake some of the lust away.  “What- what do you mean?”

 

"This-" Richie raises his brows meaningfully, licking over his bottom lip.  "Why are you- what's this rough shit?"  

 

"It's nothing," he says, lifting his hips, inhaling sharply when they press together perfectly.  “I just, I need- I  _need_  you.” 

 

“But you’re shaking,” Richie says, and he leans down, kisses Eddie’s nose, then his chin.  “What's going on?” 

 

Sighing, Eddie rolls his body up, hooks his ankles together behind Richie’s back.  Shit- he  _is_  shaking.  “Nothing's going on.”

 

Richie eyes him doubtfully.  "Eds..." 

 

Fuck.  "It's fine, just- come on-”

 

Richie sits back on his heels, takes Eddie’s legs and unwinds them from around his waist.  "What is it?" he asks, running his hands down over Eddie’s arms.

 

“Nothing,” Eddie answers too quickly, and he watches as concern flickers over Richie's expression.  God damn- why is he shaking?  He knows he needs to tell Richie what happened, but does he have to do it now?  “Nothing’s going on.  Really.” 

 

"Bullshit," Richie says, but he doesn't sound angry- just worried.  "Talk to me."    

 

"No."  

 

"Why not?" 

 

Eddie groans, tosses his head back, and he grips the sheets.  “ _Because_  I don’t fucking want to!” 

 

Silence follows his words, and Richie slowly moves away from him, sitting back toward the end of the bed.  “What’s going on?” 

 

Eddie pushes himself up on his elbows, his voice thick and pleading.  This is exactly why he wants to wait.  “It’s nothing, okay?  It’s not a big deal.” 

 

“ _What’s_ not a big deal?” 

 

God, why can’t he just forget about fucking Sam and enjoy this?  “Richie, please,” he pulls his legs back, crossing them, and he reaches out to touch Richie’s arm.  “I don’t wanna talk about it.  Can’t we- can we just-“ he scoots closer, wraps his arms around Richie’s waist, and tries to get in his lap again.  “Will you kiss me?”    

 

Richie studies him for a few moments, looking between his eyes, his hands finding a place to rest over Eddie’s hips.  “No,” he says, glancing down at Eddie’s lips.  “You need to tell me what’s wrong.” 

 

Eddie clutches at Richie’s back, brings their foreheads to rest together.  He _needs_ to make Richie understand, but he just- he doesn’t know _how_.  “Not right now.” 

 

“Why not?” 

 

Eddie sighs, and now he’s starting to get angry.  “Because it’s not important,” he says, and he wishes that was true.  He doesn’t want to let this bullshit with Sam come between them.  He just wants to be- to be _normal_.

 

“Something happened at work.”  Richie states, and it’s one of those times Eddie hates that Richie knows him so well, can see past whatever Eddie is trying to ignore.  “Was it-“ Richie pauses, and his eyes grow wider, his fingers tightening over Eddie’s hips.  “Was it _Sam_?”

 

“Yes,” Eddie admits, dropping his forehead to rest over Richie’s shoulder.  Guilt ripples through him at the worry in Richie's voice.  “He just- he just said some stuff.” 

 

Richie’s voice is hard, his hands gliding further back, around Eddie’s waist.  “What did he say?” 

 

“Just some bullshit,” Eddie says quickly, bringing his arms up and winding them around Richie’s neck, burying his nose in his hair, inhaling the comforting scent of him.  “He caught me outside, and he grabbed me-“

 

“He _grabbed_ you?” 

 

“Yes, but it wasn’t like-“

 

Richie pulls back, takes Eddie by the arms, and looks him right in the eyes.  “Did he _touch_ you?” 

 

Eddie glances to the side, blinking away the sting of frustrated tears.  “Not like at the theater.”

 

“Like _how_ , then?” 

 

Fuck.  Fuck fuck _fuck-_ he can't let this bother him.  He was feeling fine, and now he can feel it trying to eat at his insides.  “He just, just on my arm, and my chest.” 

 

“And you weren’t going to say anything?”  Richie’s voice is low, uncertain, and he looks at Eddie with helpless eyes.  “Were you just gonna pretend it didn’t happen?” 

 

“ _No_ ,” he grits out, taking Richie’s jaw between his palms.  “I was gonna tell you tomorrow.  Or later.  I just- I didn’t want it getting in the way.” 

 

“In the way of what?” 

 

“Of _this_!”  Eddie snaps, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck, holding on to him tightly.  He has to let it out now, or he’s just going to end up crying, and then they might argue, and he does _not_ want to do that.  “I don’t fucking want it ruining this.” 

 

The little furrow between Richie’s brows smooths out, and he pulls Eddie closer to him, wrapping his arms around his back, tugging him completely on to his lap.  “Eds,” he says, softly, leaning in and kissing the corner of Eddie’s mouth.  “Nothing’s going to ruin us.” 

 

Eddie takes a ragged breath, and he’s so damn happy that Richie gets it.  “But it _can_.  It’s ruined everything else.” 

 

“It’s not,” Richie says, nuzzling Eddie’s cheek, voice deep, affectionate.  “It’s- there’s no way.  Fuck that.  No one is going to fuck this up.  That’s just- that’s not gonna happen.”

 

“It might,” Eddie says, and he leans back enough to look into Richie’s eyes.  It calms him, lifts his heart just enough so he can hold his head up.  “I just wanna kiss you so bad right now, and I don't want to- I don't wanna think about that shit.” 

 

Richie grins, leans in, and he speaks against Eddie’s lips.  “Only if you’re okay.” 

 

Eddie adjust himself, settles more comfortably over Richie’s thighs.  “I am.  I’m _fine_.” 

 

“You’re sure?” 

 

“Yes,” Eddie says, and he really is.  It will probably wake him up in the middle of the night, or catch him off-guard tomorrow, but that can't be helped. and for right now he feels okay.  “I promise.  It wasn’t like last time at all.  It was- I got away fast.” 

  

Richie lets out a breath, then rests their foreheads together, and Eddie can practically feel the relief rolling off him.  “Thank  _fuck_ ,” he says, and he leans in, gives Eddie a quick, chaste kiss.  "Thank fuck."  

 

Holding Richie close to him, Eddie smiles when he feels Richie’s breath blow over his neck, feels Richie inhale against him, and he does the same.  He clings, breathes in the scent of his clothes, the very faint smell of smoke, and soap, and he feels it settle his heart.  Of all the things Sam has ruined in his life, he can't let this new relationship with Richie be one of them.  

 

Once Richie pulls back, he moves in and brushes his lips over Eddie's cheek.  "You're _really_ okay?" 

 

Eddie smiles.  " _Yes_ ," he says, knocking their heads together lightly.  "I'm fine."  

 

"Okay," Richie says, and he leans in, his eyes on Eddie’s lips.  “But, wait,” he says, frowning, his cheeks turning a faint shade of red.  "But what was-“ he pulls back again, looks into Eddie’s eyes questioningly.  “What was all that stuff, then?"  

 

"What stuff?"

 

"That _rough_ stuff," Richie says, smiling shyly.  "You were, like, _biting_ me.  And scratching me."   

 

Eddie flushes, and he feels the same need rise up inside him again, but it doesn’t feel like it did before.  It’s still strong, but it’s not as sharp.  He tightens his hold around Richie again, squeezes his thighs around Richie’s hips.  “I'm not sure, but, you uh- did you like it?” he asks, a little self-conscious. 

 

"I did."  Richie's palms slide down Eddie's sides, until they take hold of his hips and grip them tight.  "It's just uh, it was kinda- I don’t know.  It was… it was awesome, but I was not expecting that at all.  And then you started shaking." 

 

Frowning, Eddie lets his fingers glide into Richie’s hair, and he pulls at the thick locks gently.  “Awesome?”  He asks, heat licking at his insides when Richie inhales sharply.    

 

Richie nods.  "Yeah.  Do you- do you want to do that stuff?”

 

Eddie considers it for a moment.  It’s not that he wants to be _rough_ , he just- he wants more.  He wants to be closer.  He wants to feel more.  “No,” he answers, shaking his head.  “I just want.  I want _more_.” 

 

Tilting his head slightly, Richie leans down, mouthing over Eddie's throat, speaking against his skin.  "More what?" 

 

Exhaling, Eddie swallows, his head falling back to give Richie as much room as he needs.  He _loves_ when Richie kisses his neck.  There's something about it that makes him feel electrified, makes him shiver.  "I want- um, I want you." 

 

Pulling back again, Richie peers at him questioningly.  "What do you mean?"

 

He's not sure how to explain it.  Being like this, with barely any space between their bodies- it takes the edge off, just a little bit.  Not enough, but... it's sort of how he felt at the quarry, back when he had a meltdown over so many things that don't seem as important anymore.  The way Richie touched him, the way their skin was pressed together- he was focused on having Richie so close to him then, that he didn't take in how comforting it was.  Maybe... maybe that's what he needs.  Yes- he wants to feel that again.  He wants to feel Richie's bare skin, wants to see and touch and taste-

 

"I want you," he says again, breathy, taking Richie's shirt between his fingers, tugging it up, letting his hand roam over the flesh that's now exposed.  "I wanna feel you." 

 

Sucking in a breath, Richie rests his hands over Eddie's thighs.  "You don't mean- y-you-" he stammers, his cheeks flushing deeply.  "You don't mean _sex_ , do you?" 

 

"No," Eddie answers immediately, sliding back and off Richie’s lap.  He's definitely not ready for sex.  "No, not that."

 

Richie sighs, and it sounds a little relieved.  "Okay," he says, and he removes his glasses, stretches toward the nightstand and sets them down.  "What, then?" 

 

There's no way Eddie can say what he's thinking.  Just the thought of voicing what he wants makes his throat choke up and an anxious flutter start up in his stomach.  Carefully, he scoots back a little bit, just enough so he has some room, and he takes a deep breath; he can do this.  He  _wants_  this. 

 

"Eds?"  Richie asks, voice low, and Eddie doesn’t respond.  If he does, he might lose his nerve. 

 

Richie watches him, eyes dark, curious, and Eddie holds his breath as he grasps the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, over his head, and tosses it to the side.  He doesn't stop there, doesn't say a thing, going on and unbuttoning his jeans, lifting himself up enough to push them down and off his hips.  His face is red- he can feel it, the heat spreading over his cheeks, up and over the tips of his ears- but he doesn't look away.  Doesn't dare break eye contact as he pulls his legs out of his pants, struggling for a moment as his bare foot gets caught up in the fabric.  He huffs, annoyed, pulls it free, and then he bunches up the denim, rolls it between his hands, and throws it off the side of the bed.

 

Richie's eyes are dark and wide, and they stray down over his chest, burning a path over his skin, making Eddie almost want to wrap his arms around himself and hide.  He doesn't, and he snaps himself out of being so damn nervous, reaches out, and starts to pull at Richie's clothes. 

 

"C'mon," he says, and he gets his fingers underneath, intrigued by how hot Richie's skin has become.  "Take this off." 

 

"Are you sure?"  Richie's eyes squeeze shut, like he needs a moment, but he doesn't resist.  He lifts his arms when the shirt gets bunched under them, and he helps tug it over his mess of hair, his voice lower than it was before when he says, "This is okay?" 

 

" _Yes_ ," Eddie says, voice tight, as his hands moves down and start on Richie's jeans, fingers shaking where they slip the button free.  "I want- I wanna be close to you." 

 

"Okay," Richie breathes in reply, and Eddie moves to the zipper next.  His nails slip up over the metal, tugging it down, the sound sending a lick of excitement up his spine.  His eyes keep looking over Richie's skin, and he takes longer than he thinks it should shoving Richie's pants down over his slim hips.  He just can't help it- he's seen it all before, lots of times, but this is different.  Now, he can really observe, and take it all in. 

 

Richie gets to his knees, and then it's easy for him to kick his jeans away.  Once they join the rest of their clothes on the floor, Eddie reaches out, touches Richie's chest, his fingers spreading through the sparse hair growing in the center.  He wants... to taste.  He wants to get his mouth on all the flesh he can see, wants to kiss and worship, show Richie just how much he needs him. 

 

" _Shit_ ," Richie says, tugging Eddie's attention back to his face.  " _Fuck_ , Eddie." 

 

Eddie moves forward, letting his hand settle over Richie's ribs.  "What?" 

 

"You're fucking  _gorgeous_." 

 

He says it so earnestly, so full of emotion, that it draws Eddie's eyes back to his.  "I'm not," is Eddie's immediate response, but he can see it in Richie's eyes that it doesn't matter what he says.  Richie believes it.  He must believe it strongly, too; his eyes are so dark, intense, and Eddie shivers as Richie crawls forward, presses him back and down.  "Rich..."

 

"You  _are_ ," Richie says against his lips, and he slots himself between Eddie's legs again, and this time- this time it feels  _incredible_.  "You're so god damn beautiful." 

 

Eddie's breath gets caught in his throat, and he can't look away from Richie's deep stare.  His heart is swelling, the pit of his stomach is soaring, and their  _skin_ \- Richie's skin feels amazing, completing, and it eases the angry yearning in his body.  "You, too," he gasps out, taking Richie's jaw between his palms, holding him in place.  "Rich-"

 

Richie cuts him off with his mouth, and he loses his train of thought, giving himself over to the feelings surging through him.  He can't think, not with the way Richie is kissing him, with so much need, and want, and  _desire_ \- and he can feel it light up his nerves, feel it so deep inside, rooted in his chest, sinking into his skin.  It's intoxicating, and he clings to Richie's bare shoulders, rutting his hips up without thinking, and he wants- he wants no barriers between them.  He wants to feel  _everything_ \- all of Richie.   

 

Reaching down, Eddie pushes at his boxers, groaning irritably when they get caught and bunch around his thighs.  Richie retreats for a moment, long enough to help him out of them, and then he pulls his own off, too.  Eddie knows his face is even redder than before, can feel it in his cheeks, and even though he's had his hand wrapped around Richie before, it's so different to see everything bared to him.  He's a little embarrassed, shyness creeping up over him, and he doesn't look down at himself, where he knows he's hard, where Richie is staring, his expression awestruck.

 

"God damn, Eds," Richie moves in again, covering Eddie's body as his words are whispered against Eddie's neck.  "You're  _amazing_.  So fucking amazing." 

 

A whine tears out of Eddie's throat, and he bucks his hips up, a sharp jolt of lust shooting straight through him.  He opens his mouth, to tell Richie to stop, to shut up, because it's not true at all- but then Richie is kissing him hard, his fingers weaving between Eddie's as he pins his hands down on the covers, on either side of his head.  Eddie wraps his legs around him, his head spinning as Richie presses down, intimately against him.  And it's- it's different.  They've moved like this several times with their clothes on, but those times are nothing,  _nothing_  compared to this. 

 

They are flush together, hips locked, closer than they've ever been before, and it's- god,  _god_  it feels wonderful.  Richie is so hard, sliding against him as they move, Eddie's legs hiked up around his waist, Richie's palms grasping his thighs, then his hips.  It's like nothing he's ever felt before, the intensity in Richie's eyes, the mess of their hair around them, curls darkening as they sweat and move together. 

 

This is what he was craving- this is what he’s been needing.  He slides his arms around Richie's chest, holding on tightly, digging his nails into the skin over Richie's shoulder blades- and he can't hold back the sounds that pour out of him, or the way his hips leap forward to meet each thrust that bring Richie's down.  There's so much emotion building inside him, ready to burst out, break his chest open, if only so Richie will see just how much Eddie loves him. 

 

_Love_.  Yes, yes- he's in love.  He loves Richie.  He loves Richie Tozier, the Trashmouth, his best friend.  Eddie gasps, pulling back to look up, gazing deeply in to Richie's eyes, his stomach bursting into a windstorm of fluttering- he loves him.  He  _loves_  him- and it’s not surprising, it’s not a revelation, but it certainly hits him like one.  Their eyes are locked, and the tight coil of pleasure in his abdomen winds more and more, tighter and tighter, and he feels it  _so_  much stronger than before.  It sweeps him up, until he can't take in anything else around him.  All he sees and feels and hears is Richie.  All he wants is Richie- all he  _needs_  is Richie. 

 

"R-Rich," he chokes out, swallowing a moan, the words on the tip of his tongue, though they make no effort to leap forward.  "Richie, Richie,  _please_ -" 

 

And Richie dives in to kiss him, panting hard into Eddie's mouth, one hand grasping at his hair as the other holds on to his waist.  Eddie's legs tremble, his heels digging in to Richie's thighs, his breath coming fast, choking him up.  Richie's eyes flutter open, and Eddie swears that Richie can see  _all_  of him, deep into his core- and it unravels him, tears him open.  He tries not to shut his eyes as his body quakes with release, but it overwhelms him, shakes through his limbs as he clings to Richie's skin and loses himself.  It's on the tip of his tongue-  _I love you_ ,  _I_   _love_   _you_ \- but he can’t let it out.  Something inside won’t let him. 

 

Richie slots their mouths together again as his hips jerk and he spills hotly between them, shuddering hard as he groans and clutches at Eddie's hair.  And Eddie holds him through it, sucking down air as tremors keep moving through him.  His nails are dug into Richie’s skin, over his shoulder blades, and he can’t move them.  He doesn’t want to move them.  He doesn’t want to move ever again. 

 

When he’s fallen completely back into himself, Eddie opens his eyes- Richie is staring at him, a smile curving the corners of his mouth, hair hanging down, damp around his temples.  His own probably looks similar, but he’s not worried about that.  He’s not even worried about the mess on his stomach, or the dirty sheets.  He doesn’t care about those things at all.  How can he?  The way Richie is gazing down at him hits him deep and makes everything else disappear.  No one has ever looked at him like that, and he never dreamed anyone ever would. 

 

They grin at each other, and Richie leans down and kisses him slow, murmuring Eddie's name between their mouths, a grin forming over his lips that Eddie feels pulling at his own.  "What?"  He asks, muffled, sighing as Richie pulls back and huffs out a laugh.  "What's so funny?"

 

"Nothin'," Richie says, gaze flicking between Eddie's eyes and mouth.  "I'm just so fucking happy right now." 

 

If it were possible for Eddie's heart to melt any more, it'd be a puddle beneath him.  "Me, too."   

 

"Good."  

 

They share an exhausted, slow kiss, and then Eddie regretfully decides they better get cleaned up.  He doesn’t want to move at all, but sweat is drying on his skin, and the mess on their stomachs needs to be taken care of.  He forces himself to his feet and slips on a pair of sweats, then gathers some clean clothes together quickly, pulling some out of his bottom drawer for Richie, where he’s stored random shirts and sweatpants that he finds mixed with his own laundry. 

 

Eddie leads the way to the bathroom, determined to shower, and he’s so damn grateful no one is home, because he’s pretty sure he was being very loud.  The thought makes him blush, and cringe; he’d be so damn embarrassed if Bev or her aunt had heard him like that.  If  _anyone_  ever heard him make those sounds besides Richie he’d probably bury his head in the ground and want to die. 

 

He locks the bathroom door as soon as they are both inside, and he immediately gets the hot water going, wincing at the cold floor under his bare feet.  He turns the knob all the way to the hottest setting, just how he likes it, and keeps his hand under the spray, waiting for it to warm up.    

 

“You trying to burn yourself?” Richie asks from the sink, where he’s running a rag under the water. 

 

“No, idiot.”  Eddie watches him for a moment, as Richie rubs the rag over his stomach, wiping away what he can of the mess.  “What are you doing?” 

 

Richie turns to him, smirking.  “Gotta get this shit off somehow.” 

 

Oh.  Eddie slips his sweats off and steps into the shower, pausing before he pulls it closed.  He lets his eyes roam over Richie’s back, and the faint marks left on his skin, in the shape of his fingernails, and decides he’s not ready to be separated from him.  Not yet. 

 

“Come on,” he says, laughing when Richie raises his brows at him in question.  He beckons him over, shyly, feeling his face heat up.  “Get in here.” 

 

Richie stares, eyes wide, and he drops the rag on the floor.  “You sure?” 

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Eddie says, and he steps aside to make room.  “I’ll even turn the hot water down.” 

 

Luckily, Richie doesn’t need much prompting, and he hurries over, stepping over the lip of the tub with a grin.  “This is a small fucking shower.” 

 

Eddie draws the curtain closed, stepping back under the spray, sighing as the heat sinks into his skin.  “It’s big enough.” 

 

“Maybe for  _you_ ,” Richie says, chuckling when Eddie smacks him on the shoulder.  “I’m just  _saying_ , this is perfect for short people.” 

 

“Asshole,” Eddie grins, narrowing his eyes playfully.

 

“ _That’s uh pretty rude, my deah_.”  Richie’s voice drops into some accent Eddie doesn’t recognize.  It doesn’t matter which one it is- he can’t look away from the light in Richie’s eyes.  “ _Puh-haps you need some kind of punishment?_ ”

 

“That's not even a real voice,” Eddie comments, snorting when Richie grabs the bar of soap off the little ledge, and promptly drops it.  “Smooth.  Real smooth.”

 

Richie snatches it up, and he’s still grinning.  “I was  _distracted_ ,” he says, huffing dramatically.  “See, this cute boy- that’s you-  he keeps flirting with me, touching my _dick_ , _kissing_ me-“ 

 

“I am  _not_  touching your dick!”

 

“Well, not right  _now_ , you’re not,” Richie says, thoughtfully.  “But, you’re still distracting.”  He moves close to Eddie's back, wrapping an arm around Eddie's waist, leaning down to speak in his ear, and Eddie shivers.  "So damn cute."   

 

Eddie’s stomach flutters, and he glances away with a smile.  “I’m  _not_  cute.” 

 

“You are,” Richie says, and he rubs a soapy palm over Eddie's shoulder, and down, down the length of his arm.  “Just agree with me.  It'll make your life easier.” 

 

Eddie can’t keep the smile off his face as he reaches for the shampoo and pours some into his palm.  He leans back into Richie's arms, relaxing when he feels Richie's chest press against him, and he's got no chance of stopping the blush that spreads over his cheeks.  "Why am I dating you?” he says, closing his eyes under the spray of the water.  “Remind me, because I must have been on fucking drugs when I agreed to this."   

 

Richie snorts, and laughs, closing his arms around Eddie's middle and holding him tight in a full-bodied embrace.  "Fuck if I know,” he says against Eddie’s ear, and he kisses over Eddie’s neck, little pecks that he trails down and over his shoulder.  “But I'm one lucky bastard." 

 

Despite everything they just did in his room, Eddie still flushes deeply, breathing ragged and soaking up the feeling of skin on skin.  "No, I think  _I'm_ the lucky one."  

 

They take turns washing each other down, smiling, touching, kissing over each other’s skin- and it’s all so simple, and sweet, and Eddie’s heart skips inside him.  He kisses over Richie’s spine, mouthing at the back of his neck, running his fingers through his long, dark locks, and he feels so,  _so_  connected to Richie, inseparable.  He can’t quite express exactly what he’s feeling, but he tries, dropping kisses over Richie’s shoulders, his chest, and even his stomach, when he bends down to run a soapy hand over Richie’s legs.  It’s not enough, though.  He doesn’t think there’s anything out there that can capture how deep his feelings run through him.

 

Love is something he’s felt for his friend for many years, but this is new, and different.  Being  _in love_  is a whole beast of its own, and it keeps rising inside his chest, threatening to burst out, no matter how many times his throat cuts off the words and won’t allow them to emerge.  A part of him wants to say it so badly, but another part is winning out.  A shy part of him.  A scared part of him.  

 

They end up face to face, arms wound around each other, foreheads pressed together, standing slightly away from the spray.  And Eddie can’t look away from the softness in Richie’s eyes, can’t get enough of skin against skin, their bodies wrapped so tightly together.  He moves in, rises slightly, and presses a lingering kiss over Richie’s lips, reveling in the way the pit of his stomach flutters uncontrollably.  As he slowly pulls back, Richie swallows, and his palms come up and take Eddie’s face between them, his thumb brushing over his chin, his eyes full of wonder, full of something that shakes Eddie to his core. 

 

Pulling Eddie even closer, leaving no room between them, Richie inhales deeply, and his voice is quiet, soft, as he breathes, “I love you.” 

 

Eddie’s heart skips, trips over itself, and he- did he just hear that right?  Did Richie just say… no.  No, he must have misheard.  “What…?” 

 

Chuckling, Richie leans in, presses a kiss over his nose, and says it again.  “ _I_   _love_   _you_.” 

 

He feels his eyes widen, his arms tighten around Richie’s waist, and he- he can’t believe it.  Richie loves him?  Richie loves  _him_?  “Rich…”

 

“You don’t have to say it back,” Richie says in a rush, and he kisses Eddie chastely, holding him so, so tight.  “I just want you to know.  I love you.”  He smiles, the crooked little smile Eddie loves so much.  “I’m in love with you.” 

 

It punches him in the chest to hear it again, and he feels stupid tears prick at his eyes.  “I, Richie, I,” and he stops.  He needs to say it.  He _wants_ to say it.  “Rich,” he murmurs, but the words won’t form in his mouth, even though they are knocking around inside him, begging to come out.

 

“It’s okay,” Richie tells him, and Eddie can see it in his eyes that he means that.  “Eds, really.  Don’t say it unless you mean it, or until you’re ready to.” 

 

That’s just not fair.  “But, but I-“ 

 

Richie shakes his head, kisses his nose, and says.  “Not until you’re ready.”

 

How did he get so lucky?  How did stupid, dumbass, neurotic, ignorant Eddie Kaspbrak get so fucking lucky?  Richie is caring, and kind, and patient, and he's so damn supportive- there's no one out there who could possibly compare.

 

Eddie pulls him in, kisses him deeply, pouring everything he feels into the movements of their lips, clutching at Richie’s wet hair, pressing his body as close as he possibly can.  He gives it all he’s got, gets lost in his swooping stomach, his stuttering heart, the ache in his skin to somehow get even closer.  He feels like he can fly, like he can float away- and it’s all because Richie loves him.  Richie _loves_ him. 

 

So Eddie doesn’t say it back, but he promises himself that he’s going to do his best to show it.  When they get into bed that night, he cuddles up to Richie’s back, wraps an arm around his waist, and breathes against the back of his neck, strokes his free hand through Richie’s hair.  Richie hums contentedly, and Eddie falls asleep holding him as close as possible. 

 

: : : :

 

Eddie floats through the next couple days.  He feels light, happy, and it’s such a change from how heavy he felt before, that he’s not even sure how to enjoy it. 

 

Richie’s in a bad mood throughout the school day on Friday, and it helps keep Eddie distracted from the stares he receives, the whispers he catches in each of his classes, and the dirty looks Josh Dickwad shoots him from across the hall each time they cross each other’s path.  He doesn't let it upset him, just focuses on Richie, listens as he complains about a headache, and some body aches, and by the time they get home he's forgotten about all the idiots and school, and he gets caught up taking care of his boyfriend, who comes down with a full-blown cold.   

 

Eddie does his best to help, bringing Richie's fever down in the night with aspirin, retrieving soup, and tea, tissues, and he resigns himself to the fact that he’s going to end up with a cold, too.  He doesn’t care all that much, not when he gets to lie down with Richie in bed for the evening, even though Richie is being a huge baby.  He whines, grumbles, begs Eddie to snuggle up with him, pleads for anything but water and tea- but Eddie doesn’t mind, because Richie loves him, and Richie keeps saying it no matter how shitty he’s feeling.  Each time those three words leave his lips Eddie's insides turn to mush, and he kisses Richie tenderly, staring into his glazed eyes, mesmerized.  

 

On Saturday evening, Eddie is forced to close at the library.  Mrs. Starrett has left for Manhattan again, where she's needed to take care of her grand kids while her daughter recovers from a bad bout of pneumonia.  He takes Richie’s car again, weary, but he doesn’t let his mind worry over the possibility of Sam being there again.  Even if he does decide to show up, it’s not like Eddie is going to stand there and take it, not with how elated he is, how much hope he feels thrumming through him- no, nothing can bring him down right now.

 

The shift drags by, and he’s distracted the entire time.  He’s wearing the wristband Richie gave him in Kettle Cove, and he keeps glancing down at it, his insides warming each time he traces his finger over the beads, outlining _Eds_ with his fingernail.  Part of him idly wonders if Richie is okay, which he _knows_ he is, because a cold is a cold, and it’s not a huge deal.  The other part of him is stuck on the other night, when he was such an idiot and couldn’t bring himself to tell Richie how he really feels.

 

It’s almost nine, and the last person trudges out of the doors, and he remains at the front desk, sorting through returned books and stacking his cart to shelve them tomorrow.  He makes a few mistakes, caught up in his thoughts, wondering why the hell he can’t just come out and say those three, stupid words to Richie without getting choked up.  It’s a big deal, but it’s also not a big deal at all, because of  _course_  they love each other.  They’ve been through so damn much.  They’ve supported each other through everything.  Why is it so hard to say it? 

 

_Because you’re broken_ , says a voice in the back of his mind, as he heads over to the front doors and locks them.  It sounds like his mother, and he ignores it, shoves it away.  No, he isn’t going to listen to that bullshit.  He can do this.  He can tell Richie that he loves him.  He can even do it tonight.  Yes- tonight.  Richie might be passed out when he gets home, but he’ll wake up eventually, and Eddie will be waiting.  And he’ll say it.  _He'll_ _say it_.  

 

_I love you, Richie._

 

He smiles as he goes through the last of the books quickly, eager, now, to get home.  He moves on to do a quick check of the common areas, moving up and down the rows between the shelves, glancing around to make sure there aren't any piles of books sitting in the aisles, or anything else that can cause anyone to fall, or complain.  He hasn’t closed in a while, and he’s so damn distracted by his thoughts that he keeps forgetting to do simple things.  He gets the desks cleared off, double checks that there's no important paperwork left out, and he's about ready to go when he catches sight of a box full of worn out books that needs to go down to the basement.    

 

Sighing, Eddie hefts it up off the front desk, and he drags his feet through the doors leading to the next room.  It’s dark in there, but he knows his way through, his steps heavier on his left side as he uses his hip to help adjust the weight of the box.  The silence is usually comforting, but there’s something off about it tonight.  Something different.  It’s almost _too_ quiet- it’s probably because he hasn’t closed recently, and he’s not used to it anymore.  Maybe.  Most likely.  The Library is completely locked down from the inside, and he's never had any issues here besides Sam showing up during the day.  He buries the nagging feeling in his gut, because everything is _fine_.   

 

Or… or maybe he should listen to that uneasy feeling inside.  Because god knows that the last time he didn’t listen, he ended up with fucking Sam stalking him. 

 

A lick of fear goes through him, but he shoves that away, too.  Everything is _fine_.  He’s just antsy to get home. 

 

Eddie heads down the dark stairwell, and he shivers slightly.  He remembers what Ben confided to him about what he saw in this very spot.  The leper was terrifying, and he’ll _never_ forget it, but he can never quite visualize what Ben described to him.  Dropping the box down in the corner, close to the shelf on the left, he forces those thoughts from his mind; there’s no need to be thinking about the fucking clown or anything to do with it right now.  If he thinks about it too much, he’ll just scare himself. 

 

He hurries back to the front of the library, taking quick, short steps, propelled by the prickling at the back of his neck.  Fear hasn’t taken hold of him for a long time, not the kind that he remembers so vividly from his time fighting the clown.  There is nothing to be afraid of, but he can’t shake the feeling that- that something’s not right.  But it has to be his own brain screwing with him.  He made the mistake of letting one bad thought take root, and now he's quickly spiraling down into the thick of paranoia.    

 

He snatches up his backpack, flips the switch for the lights, and makes his way toward the front doors, breathing evenly.  The moon gives him a little bit of light, shining through the windows, and he can see perfectly fine to get through the path around the tables.  He knows the path either way, and he’s almost there, his arm reaching out, his fingers grazing the surface of the door-

 

Then he hears something. 

 

Eddie stops, listening, the silence of the library suddenly pressing in on his eardrums, pressure building at the back of his neck- and all of his senses magnify at once.  His heart is beating fast, his pulse thumping hard, and his skin is crawling, and- he should just go.  It's late, and it's dark, and there's no reason for him to go searching through the whole damn library when it can be anything from a book knocking over (which could happen, he tells himself, whether someone is there to knock it down or not) to the pipes in the walls groaning.  It's not important.  It's nothing.

 

He hears it again.

 

Eddie jumps slightly, glancing back at the front desk, where he can see the outline of the edges, and the dark, pitch-black doorway beyond.  It's definitely a thump, and it could be a footstep.  It could be that messed up toilet in the bathroom, that makes weird sounds every so often.  It could even be an animal trying to get inside for warmth.  It’s nothing.  It has to be nothing.

 

Dropping his backpack to the floor, Eddie retraces his footsteps, slow, careful, his heart thudding harder, his ears pounding.  He doesn’t have to do this, but he should.  This is where he _works_ , and he _has_ to be responsible.  He’s not that scared, spineless kid he used to be, and there’s no way he can just leave without at least checking things out.  He's no fucking coward.  

 

He's not a coward.  

 

Eddie reaches the desk, straining his ears, barely breathing as he listens hard for the sound.  He sets his palms down on the surface, presses the heels of his shoes down into the carpet; his eyes are tricking him, he's sure.  His ears are picking up things that aren't really there.  He knows real fear.  He's experienced first-hand true, mind-stopping, heart crushing fear, and this is nothing compared to that. 

 

He lets his weight rest on his hands.  It's fine.  There's nothing wrong.  It's just a stupid noise.  He swallows thickly, his throat dry, his eyes adjusting slowly, too slowly to the darkness.  He can just switch on the light, do a quick walk through, and go home.  The switch is behind the desk, on the wall beside the open doorway, where anything can be lurking, waiting-

 

_Stop_ \- _stop_ _stop_ \- he tells himself, shaking his head slightly.  Eddie takes a deep breath, and he laughs humorlessly at himself.  God, he’s such a fucking _child_.  Everything is _fine_. 

 

He moves around the desk, reaches for the light, his fingers stretched out, almost there, and then he hears the sound again.  It's louder, closer, and this time it comes from just on the other side of the dark doorway, he's sure of it.  

 

Eddie's hands tremble, his heart jumps up in his throat, and he opens his mouth, to call out "Who's there?" or "Get the fuck out of here!"- but he can't speak.  His airways are closing up, because now- _now_ he's truly scared.  He's scared.  There's no doubt that there is someone, _something_ , standing there, and he can't fucking see it.  It was a footstep, a shifting, some sound only a living thing can make.  

 

He should run.  He should back away.  He should do _anything_ other than stand here and wait.  But his fucking feet won't let him move, and his lungs are starting to struggle, his chest tightening and his skin breaking out in goosebumps all over.  Run.  Get out of here.  If it's not that fucking clown, which it can't be- it _can't_ fucking be- then there's only one other thing it can possibly be.  

 

The noise breaks through the silence again, but now it's not coming from the doorway.  It's coming from somewhere behind him.   

 

Eddie stops breathing, his palm coming up to clutch at his chest as it heaves, a pointless attempt to suck down some air- he can't turn around.  He's terrified.  He's rooted to the spot.  He can't move.  

 

He hears the sound again, and now- _now_ he feels it, too.  He feels the presence, feels the lurking of a body standing right behind him.  He doesn't need to see the shadow emerge in the moonlight cast over the wall to know it's Sam.  Of _course_ it's Sam.  It _fucking_ Sam- 

 

Something touches the small of his back, a palm, he thinks, and he inhales sharply, means to move away, but he can't.  He can't breathe, he can't move, he can't do anything.  He's petrified.  He's-

 

He shivers when hot, damp breath blows over the shell of his ear, smelling of mint, the sharp scent of cologne filling his nostrils, and he closes his eyes, squeezes them shut tight.  

 

" _Hello_ , _Eddie_."  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! I know you guys probably want them to have sex, but it just doesn't fit with the story, in my opinion. I almost made the intimate parts in here sex, but I decided that would have been way too much to write. I like it this way much better.  
> I hope you guys liked it! Like I said, I am not happy with it. I think it could have been better, but I'm done tweaking it.  
> 


	8. In The Air Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note:  So… I'm sorry.  That this took so long.  You can fire me now, if you want. There is one more chapter after this and then an epilogue.  Holy shit.  The finish line is there, very close, and then I will wash my hands of this!  
> There is an overlap of the end of the last chapter and the beginning of this chapter. Now, this chapter, to me, is super cliche, and I hate it. I was going to go in another direction originally, and then I was about to change my mind on some things, but that would have added like five more chapters so this was the only way I could go. I'm super nervous posting this. Oh god alksjdlkjaflkj  
> Also, keep an eye out for my next big fic: Rebel, Rebel.  I will be working on it and posting info, summaries, and tidbits on my tumblr as I go along.   
> Also, if you haven't seen it yet, I have another WIP titled with or without you posted.  That one is short, and I will be working on the second chapter next.   
> I have been doing better as far as confidence in writing goes, but I have to be honest and say this chapter is no bueno. But, it had to happen this way.  
> There was an issue with spacing while I was editing it a last time earlier, so if there is anything majorly wrong let me know please?

The stereo is playing softly, the second verse to “Let it Be” drifting through the warm air and over to the bed, where Richie is curled up in a cocoon of thick, freshly-washed blankets.  He inhales the scent, his eyes fixed on Eddie’s back, shoulders bending and stretching as he sits perched on the edge of the mattress, bringing one knee up and tucking his foot in close to his thigh.  Richie smiles, watching Eddie tie the long, clean laces of his chucks, a little wrinkle forming between his brows when he’s finished.  Richie knows that look- it’s the “I don’t wanna go to work” look that Eddie wears when he’s especially exhausted.

 

Reaching out, Richie tugs on the bottom of his shirt and pouts, blinking innocently when Eddie’s eyes flick over to him.  " _Come back_ ," he whines, scratchy throat burning around the words.  "Call out sick."

 

"I can't," Eddie says, voice lilting as his mouth opens up wide around a yawn.  There’s a hint of yearning in his voice that tells Richie he would consider it, if there was anyone else available to close at the library.  "Mrs. Starrett is out helping her daughter again."

 

Though Richie is perfectly aware of this, it doesn't stop him from pushing himself up, kicking the blankets away and scooting across the bed, where he slides up against Eddie's back and slips his arms around his middle.  "Make the mean one close," he whispers in Eddie’s ear, nuzzling the warm skin just beneath his lobe.  "I’m sick.  You have to stay and take care of me."

  

A shiver runs through Eddie’s frame, and he tips his head to the left, giving Richie plenty of room to press lingering little kisses down the line of his neck.  "She's already there," Eddie breathes, sucking in a gasp when Richie moves his shirt collar aside and drags his teeth over his shoulder.  "I have to go."

 

With a heavy, exaggerated sigh, Richie pulls Eddie closer to his body, unfolding his legs so they can drape on either side of Eddie's thighs, caging him in against his chest.  He's been sick since yesterday at school, and all he wants is to keep basking in Eddie's care, ecstatic that he hasn't been sent away because he's _contagious._ But of course, Eddie- ever the responsible one- won't dare try to skip out on work, not when he's saving up for after graduation and pays for a portion of the groceries to stay in Bev’s house.  Richie suspects that Bev’s aunt wouldn’t care if he didn’t, but he’s not about to point that out. 

 

“I’ll try to hurry up,” Eddie says, turning slightly in Richie’s hold, his fingers lightly grazing over Richie’s knuckles.  “I won’t do anything extra.  I’ll be home by, like, nine thirty I think.”

 

It's a lot of long hours for Eddie to be working, considering that their homework load has only gotten worse.  And Richie knows that Eddie needs all the help and time he can possibly get to complete it all, and he just can’t see how working constantly isn’t going to get in the way of that.  He's been thinking about getting a job, though he knows if he tries to help Eddie out at all he’ll only be shot down.  Either way, he’s been looking around for something, but he's not sure who the hell would hire him in this evil little town.  He's pissed off most of the owners of the little shops around at least once in his lifetime. 

 

"You work too hard," he murmurs, allowing his palms to move up and over Eddie's chest, where he curls his fingers in the fabric over Eddie's steadily beating heart.  Leaning forward, he drops a quick peck on Eddie's cheek.  "You're gonna burn out on me." 

 

Eddie’s weight falls back into him, and he lets out a heavy breath as Richie starts sucking a mark on the side of his neck.  "I'm fine," he says, voice going smooth and sweet, eyes fluttering closed when Richie bites down gently.  Eddie’s breath comes out in a laugh.  "You better stop that." 

 

"Stop what?"  Richie asks innocently, grinning as he moves one hand down to rest over Eddie's hip.  He gives it a quick squeeze, and he pulls his lip between his teeth when Eddie reaches back and tugs on a handful of his hair.  "I'm not doin' anything." 

 

" _Richie_." 

 

" _Spaghetti_.” 

               

Eddie laughs, and he pulls away enough to turn and push Richie down.  “You’re a leech.”

 

" _Leech_?”  Richie smirks, then he tugs Eddie down on top of him, attacking his neck with little pecks as he says, “I’ll show you a leech, baby.”

 

Eddie is slapping at him playfully, but as soon as Richie’s little kisses turn open-mouthed and slow, he shudders and melts into it, and Richie turns over to press Eddie down on his back and get on top of him.  He isn’t _trying_ to push it, but he loves how pliant Eddie becomes when he does this, how needy his hands feel as they pull at Richie’s shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles as his lips fall open around breathless sounds.  His mind drifts back to a couple nights ago, when they were naked and grinding together in this spot, Eddie’s body arching up into his as he groaned and gasped out Richie’s name.  It’s been nearly impossible not to think of it constantly.  And when Eddie moans now, his chest pressing up as his back arches, Richie feels his body responding quickly, and he knows he needs to stop because they are _definitely_ getting carried away. 

 

“You can’t do that to me,” Eddie says when he pulls back, breathing a little heavier than before.  “I can’t say no to you when you do.” 

 

Richie hums, his ears picking up the steady, calming beat of “Stand By Me” now playing on the stereo, and he leans down to press a swift kiss to Eddie’s lips.  “You’re one true weakness is my mouth, isn’t it?”

 

Cheeks flushing, Eddie glares and knees him in the thigh.  “Shut up.” 

 

Chuckling, Richie slides sideways, settling on the mattress as he runs his fingers through the wavy curls falling over Eddie’s eyes.  “Make me.” 

 

That earns him an eye-roll.  “It’s gonna take a _miracle_ to do that.” 

 

They both fall silent, eyes locked together, and as the words Richie confessed a couple nights ago bubble up inside him, he recalls the incredible feeling of their bare skin pressed together.  Damn- Eddie’s eyes staring up at him from under the spray of the water, wet lashes thick and dark as he smiled and pressed their chests together completely- it was overwhelming, intimate in a way Richie never even imagined.  He’s still a little embarrassed from spilling his heart out, but he wouldn’t take it back for anything.  The way Eddie’s eye lit up when he confessed his real feelings is worth any amount of embarrassment. 

 

And it’s like now that he’s said it, he can’t stop saying it.  He almost does now, but he starts singing along to the stereo instead, cupping Eddie’s jaw in his palms as he croons, “ _I won’t cry.  I won’t cry.  No I-I-I won’t shed a tear.  Just as long as you stand.  Stand by me_ —" 

 

“Oh _god_ , don’t sing—"

 

“— _Oh darlin’, darlin’_ —”

 

Eddie surges forward and brings their mouths together, hands gliding into Richie’s hair as he kisses him into silence.  It’s a deep, searing kiss, and Richie feels a swift tug of pure _feeling_ in the center of his chest, his heart starting to beat faster as Eddie’s knee comes up and hooks over his hip.  He sinks into it, clutching Eddie’s waist and trying to get even closer, _wanting_ so suddenly and intensely that he groans deeply.  He tries to roll back on top of Eddie, so he can turn this into something involving less clothes, but Eddie keeps a steadying hand on his chest to keep him back. 

 

When Eddie pulls away Richie is a little dizzy, blinking and smiling stupidly as he swallows around the lump in his throat.  “ _W_ - _Woah_ ,” he says, voice higher than it usually is, and he clears his throat back to his normal pitch.  “What was that?” 

 

Eddie’s smug little grin and indifferent shrug only makes him ache for more.  “Just wanted to.” 

 

They get up off the bed, Richie’s knees a little weak as he almost stumbles.  Eddie snorts and snags his jacket from the closet, smoothing his clothes out as he grabs his wallet and Richie’s keys off the dresser and tucks them into his pockets.  Richie goes over to the stereo, flips the mix over to the second side and hits play.  “Africa” starts up, and he turns around with a smile that makes Eddie roll his eyes. 

 

“Eds!”

 

“Nope,” Eddie says immediately, going over to the door to head out.  “Get that song off my stereo.” 

 

Richie scoffs dramatically, then follows him out and into the living room.  “That song is great!” 

 

“Says you.” 

 

Bev is sitting on the couch with a textbook open on her lap and a highlighter hovering over a sheet of paper covered in notes.  Richie recruits her.  “Bevvy!  Tell this kid that ‘Africa’ is an amazing song!”

 

Bev doesn’t look up from her work, but says, “Eddie, just tell him what he wants to hear or he won’t shut it.” 

 

Richie scoffs again.

 

“You heard her,” Eddie says, then he smiles and leans in to kiss Richie’s cheek.  “I’ll see you later.” 

 

“Wait,” Richie grabs his wrist before he can make it out the door, pulls him back in and ducks down.  Stomach fluttering, he presses a chaste, lingering kiss to Eddie’s soft lips, voice low as he says, “I love you.” 

 

Eddie’s eyes are shining as he steps back, and he nearly trips as he backs out the door, fighting an obvious smile.

 

As soon as the door is closed, Richie turns around to find Bev looking at him with raised brows and a big, shit-eating grin.  She wastes no time as she excitedly asks, “Was that the _L_ -word?”

 

He nods, shyly, then plops down on the opposite end of the couch.  She’s definitely going to poke a little fun at him, but he doesn’t mind.  He knows she’s happy for them.  “Yup.  The big one.  The _no-going-back_ one.” 

 

Bev squeals, leaps across the couch and smothers him with a hug.  He gets some of her hair in his mouth as she says, “You cute fuckers!  Oh my gosh, I’m so happy for you idiots!” 

 

He leans his head away from her, sticking his tongue out at the taste of hairspray.  “Thanks,” he says, and then she backs off, sitting and watching him expectantly.  “What?”

 

“Tell me what happened!” 

 

“What do you mean?” 

She gives him one of her looks that says, _are you serious?_ “If you guys are dropping love bombs, something must have happened.  Oh!  Wait.”  She narrows her gaze at him, studying his eyes, then the rest of his face.  “You guys had sex, didn’t you?” 

 

Richie feels heat rise in his cheeks.  “ _No_ ,” he says, firmly.  “We didn’t have sex.” 

 

“You look smitten,” she says, pulling her textbook back into her lap.  “You guys did _something_.” 

 

Richie doesn’t tell her; he would tell her usually, not in detail, but since what happened involves an incident with Sam, he really doesn’t want to bring it up.  When Richie tried to ask Eddie more about it the next morning, he shut the questioning down and insisted he didn’t want to talk about it.  So even though Eddie never explicitly said that he doesn’t want the others to know, Richie feels it’s best to assume that’s the case. 

 

He’s still pretty pissed about it, himself.  Though he knows it’s not his fault, he can’t help feeling a little bit like it is.  If he had gone to the library with him that night, Sam wouldn’t have had an opportunity to corner him alone.  The urge to tell Eddie he can’t drive his car at all anymore was strong, but it’s not fair of him to do that, just so he can keep an overbearing eye on him at all times.  Geeze- who is he?  Eddie’s mother?

 

That thought makes him feel a little like throwing up, so he pushes the incident from his mind and settles back to watch whatever Bev has on.  He’s still not feeling that well, those it’s much better than he was feeling yesterday.  A fever is heating around the base of his neck, threatening to move higher and spread through his temples, but so far, it’s done nothing but stay low.

 

There isn’t much to watch on TV this early on a Saturday, so Richie asks Bev if he can borrow her boombox so he can get started on the new tape he’s been planning to make for Eddie. 

 

“You guys are gross,” she says, but she helps him set up in the living room with one of his old ones that he’s made a habit of keeping in Eddie’s room.  “If you two weren’t so cute I’d yack all over you.”

 

Richie sits down on the carpet, a little off to the side, and he gets started, pulling out a list he made a couple days ago when Eddie mentioned that he missed his mix.  It’s mostly the same songs, but he’s added some new ones, so he slips the blank tape into one side of Bev’s boombox and starts it off with “Patience.” 

 

It takes a while to get side one done, and by the time it’s finished a few hours have gone by, and Bev has changed the TV to _Tales From The Crypt._ Richie stores the tapes away in Eddie’s room and stays out in the living room, his eyes drooping as he lays his head down on the armrest.  A cough starts to wrack his chest, but it’s not as bad as the one he had all day yesterday, so he brushes off Bev’s offer of tea or soup.  He absolutely _hates_ getting sick.  He’d take a busted knee or a broken bone any day over getting the damn flu or cold. 

 

At one point he looks at the clock on the wall and sees that it’s a little after seven, and he smiles.  Not much longer and Eddie will be home.  He fights the sleep that keeps dragging his eyelids down, making them heavy and impossible to keep open, but he ends up drifting off, unintentionally, and he dreams of hallways and lights shimmering in the distance.

 

When he wakes it’s with a start; he sits up, blinking rapidly, his head aching and his body shivering under a blanket he recognizes from Bev’s room.  The lights and the TV are still on, and Bev is still on the opposite end of the couch, her legs under the same blanket covering him. 

 

“Hey,” Bev says, getting up and hovering over him with a concerned look.  Her features are blurry and out of focus.  “You were shivering pretty bad.  You want some aspirin or something?  I think you have a fever again.” 

 

Richie looks around for his glasses before answering, reaching out toward the coffee table, where his hand immediately encounters the plastic arms.  “No, I’m fine,” he says, sliding his glasses over his nose.  “What time is it?” 

 

“After nine,” Bev tells him, and then grabs a glass of water off the table.  “Here.  Eddie will yell at you if you don’t take them.” 

 

She holds out two little white pills at the glass, and Richie sits up, takes them from her reluctantly.  “Yeah, yeah.” 

 

Swallowing the aspirin, Richie rubs at his temples and groans.  His head is pounding, sweat drying stickily on his back and along his hairline.  Fucking bullshit- he felt okay earlier.  Not great, but decent enough.  Colds and flus can burn in hell.  He’s surprised Eddie hasn’t told him to get lost, which he usually does whenever Richie is sick, because he’s “gross and contagious”.  Eddie is going to get sick, no doubt, especially since he willingly let Richie kiss him earlier. 

 

Richie’s eyes start to get heavy again, but he forces them to stay open as he tries to pay attention to whatever Bev is watching.  He doesn’t recognize it, and his throat is too dry to bother asking her what it is, so he just watches absently, waiting, eager to curl up with Eddie in bed and sleep peacefully.  He’s gotten too used to sleeping next to Eddie, and he can’t imagine going back to sleeping alone all the time.  Though he’s here a lot, he does have to go home and stay there sometimes.  His parents have noticed that he isn’t always in his room when they think he is, so he’s making more of an effort to at least show his face around the house. 

 

The phone rings and Bev gets up to answer it, and Richie doesn’t listen to what she’s saying, but he hears her hang it up quickly.  It rings again, almost right away, and Richie lifts his head to peer into the kitchen, where Bev is standing and has the phone pressed to her ear. 

 

“No, he’s not here,” he hears her saying, and he frowns as she makes a face and shifts around uncomfortably.  “Not for a while- who is this?” 

 

She hangs up after that, and then makes her way back over to the couch slowly, a contemplative little wrinkle forming between her brows. 

 

“Who was that?”  Richie asks her, pushing himself up and stretching his arms up and over his head.  “Prank call?” 

 

Bev shakes her head.  “No, I… I don’t think so.  He asked for Eddie, but he sounded a little weird.” 

 

“Weird how?” 

 

“I’m not sure,” she tells him, and she sits back against the sofa, thoughtful.  “I recognize his voice.” 

 

A little red flag is waving in Richie’s mind, but he’s not sure why.  “Where from?” 

 

Shifting a bit, Bev looks reluctant to say, but she answers him.  “Okay, I don’t want to weird you out, but a call came in earlier while you were sleeping.  It sounded like the same guy.  I think it’s Sam.” 

 

Richie’s feels his eyes widen.  “ _Sam_?”

 

“Yeah.  I remember he sounds kind of weird.  And you used to say he sounds high all the time.”

 

Turning to look at the clock, Richie’s insides squirm nervously when he sees that it’s now ten.  “Eddie should have been back by now,” he says, more to himself than to Bev.  It’s not unusual for Eddie to get off later than expected on the weekends, especially when he’s closing.  There was a time he didn’t get out of the library until eleven, and that was because he kept finding things scattered everywhere, and a mess in the restroom that he had to clean before leaving. 

 

So, Richie really shouldn’t be worried. 

 

“You wanna call the library?” Bev suggests hesitantly, and Richie nods as he gets to his feet. 

 

The phone rings again, right then, as he’s halfway between the living and the doorway to the kitchen.  The sound makes the hairs on his arms stand on end, sends a chill down his spine that doesn’t make any sense, but shakes him enough to make him pause in his path.  He’s trying so hard not to worry, not to let any thoughts or scenarios take root in his mind.  Eddie is probably fine.  Probably just taking a little longer because some asshole left a mess and Eddie is stuck cleaning it up. 

 

Bev moves past him to grab the phone, but it stops ringing just as she’s about to pick it up.  She redirects her attention to Richie.  “Hey, you know, I might be wrong,” she tells him, though Richie can hear it in her voice that she doesn’t think she is.  “The guy asked for Eddie earlier, but it could be someone from school.” 

 

Right.  Someone from school.  Eddie does talk to other people, not just their little sad group of the remaining losers.  It’s not too far out of the realm of possibility.  “Yeah, you’re right.  Maybe.” 

 

Just as they both turn to head back to the couch, the phone starts ringing again, and it must be at the same volume, but to Richie it sounds louder, angrier, more insistent than before.  Almost like the phone itself is demanding to be answered with it’s shrill, banshee-like ring, and its unimposing appearance, with it’s plain, white color and the simple cord that gets tangled up easily. 

 

Bev grabs it off the hook, demands “ _Hello_?” into the speaker, and then looks at Richie worriedly.  “Hello?”

 

Richie’s not sure why, but he takes the phone from her, presses it to his ear and listens for any sign of someone sitting on the other end of the line.  Maybe it is a stupid prank call.  Maybe it’s someone calling the wrong number with a bad connection.  And maybe it is none of those things, because as Richie strains his ears, practically holding his breath to listen closer, he swears he catches the subtle, even sound of someone breathing.  Inhale, holding in the silence, then a barely audible exhale. 

 

Richie swallows, opens his mouth to demand who it is, and then a voice finally speaks up- a voice he knows, and it makes something sour curl in the pit of his stomach.

 

" _Is Eddie there_?" 

 

That _voice_.  Distant.  Disinterested.  Unaffected.  Something gets caught in Richie’s throat as every swear and insult runs through his mind.  _Fuck you,_ he wants to scream.  _Fuck off and don’t ever talk to Eddie again.  I’ll kill you if you do.  I’ll rip your balls off and shove them down your throat._

 

“Who is this?” is what comes out of him instead, voice shaking minutely, his eyes meeting Bev’s as she stands beside him, watching him. 

 

There’s no response for a moment, then, “ _I need to speak to Eddie_.” 

 

Words come back to Richie now.  Words that he remembers because they hit him somewhere deep, somewhere inside him where all the old fear hides.  Those words that started the digging, unearthing all those feelings of worthlessness.  Before he found the losers.  Before they were all a team and gave each other strength. 

 

_You can break anyone down if you try hard enough._

 

"Who is this?" he demands, stronger now, though he can feel the panic setting in his skin.  “Is this Sam?” 

 

_Then you take what you want_. 

 

The line clicks and goes dead into silence, and then the dial tone blares in his ear.  His hands are shaking. 

 

Bev grabs his shoulder and shakes him.  “Was it Sam?”

 

Richie doesn’t answer her.  Can’t answer her.  His heart is pounding hard, mercilessly, as every scenario he’s imagined since this bullshit with Sam has started begins to play out in his mind.  Eddie, alone in the library, his back turned as he slips a large book into an empty slot on the top shelf, completely unaware as a dark shadow approaches him from behind.  Eddie, down in that dark, suffocating basement, weighed down by a heavy box that he drops in the corner by the shelf on the left, oblivious to the figure lurking just around the corner, waiting, timing his attack so he has the advantage.  And Sam has such an advantage over him as it is.  Eddie is not weak by any means, but the element of surprise is enough to catch him off guard- and he’s just so much _bigger_ than Eddie.  Thicker, taller, maybe even faster-

 

He’s got the phone to his ear again, punching in the numbers for the library as he looks at the clock again.  It’s still not that late; Eddie can still come home.  He shouldn’t be freaking out like this.  Eddie’s probably already on his way, tired, dragging ass out to the car if he’s only just getting finished up.  And god- what if Sam catches him outside again?  What the fuck is Eddie supposed to do if Sam gets to him while he’s completely alone?

 

“Was it _really_ him?”  Bev demands, digging her nails into his shoulder as the line rings in his ear endlessly.  It goes on.  And on.  Endless.  No one is at the library.  There’s no one there to answer it.  Eddie must be on his way, which means he’s fine.  Eddie is fine-

 

The line clicks, but no one answers.  Silence.  Richie holds his breath as he shakily asks, “Eddie?  Eddie, are you there?” 

 

His eyes stay locked on Bev’s, growing wider with each passing second, and then he hears the steady breathing again; inhale, exhale, and he _knows_ it’s Sam on the other end. 

 

Bev snatches the phone out of his hand, starts yelling into the speaker.  “Eddie?  Eddie—" 

 

Fuck.  _Fuck_.  Richie doesn’t waste any time- he heads off to Eddie’s room.  He needs to get down there _now_.  If Sam is there, and Eddie isn’t home yet, it can only mean one thing-

 

He pushes the thought out of his mind and dresses quickly, fumbling as he shoves his legs into a pair of dirty jeans tossed carelessly on the floor.  Bev appears in the doorway, her eyes wide and scared.  “Was it him?” she asks again, her voice taking on a sharp edge. 

 

He nods, unable to bring himself to speak.  He shoves his feet into a pair of shoes and grabs a sweater out of the drawer Eddie cleared for him, and then he realizes that he doesn’t have his car.  “Fuck!” he cries, looking around himself in a circle.  Fuck it- he’s going to have to rough it on foot, no matter how fucking cold or icy it is outside. 

 

“Don’t leave without me,” Bev tells him, and then she disappears.

 

They’re out the door a few minutes later, and they wordlessly set off at a run.  It’s not safe, not smart to do so, not with the way the ground has frozen over, and their shoes slip over the icy patches littering the streets and sidewalks.  The streetlamps cast alarming shadows as they pass each one, and Richie’s breath huffs around him in the darkness between each halo of light.  His chest is burning, filling with dry, painful cold, irritating his already sore throat, but none of that matters.  No, not when Eddie is probably in trouble, not when Sam is there right now, inside the library-

 

They don’t slow down when the library comes into view, and Richie nearly loses his footing as they run across the street.  Up the walkway, and the front steps, their sneakers slipping dangerously as they grab hold of the railing and pull themselves up.  Richie glances off to the side street, spots his car parked there, the windshield iced over and the roof glistening wetly.  It hasn’t been touched all night.

 

Bev starts banging on the door, shouting Eddie’s name, and Richie does the same.  His knuckles hurt as they collide with the cold door, but he doesn’t stop.  They both shout and knock for several minutes, long enough for Eddie to come to the door if he could hear them. 

 

“Shit,” Bev mutters, then, “There’s a back entrance, right?”

 

Richie nods, and then she rushes down the steps, and he follows her as she leads him around the side of the building.  His shoes slip on the grass, but he keeps his balance, breathing hard as a sharp pain starts to pinch and knot at his side.  He ignores it, pushes on, hanging on to the hope that Eddie is still inside, but safe.  Maybe busy and distracted, maybe even wearing his headphones and listening to some mix on his cassette player.  It’s possible, Richie tries to convince himself, as they head into the shadows created by the canopy of trees overhead.  The moon is full, but there’s barely any light shining through the branches.    

 

Bev stops him suddenly, grabbing the bend of his elbow with her nails, keeping him from going forward.  “There.”  She points to a door, propped open wide by what appears to be a book wedged under the corner.  “It’s gotta be how he got in,” she whispers, and Richie nods.  “Let’s go.” 

 

Richie leads the way this time, his heart leaping in his throat as he takes in the faint halo of light glowing at the end of the long, black hallway.  He’s seen this area before, the nights he’s helped Eddie close and check every door in the building.  But knowing where he is in the library does nothing to calm the shaking in his arms, legs, even in his voice as he whispers to Bev to follow him.

 

It only takes a few turns to find the basement, where all the boxes of old, worn-out books are kept.  Though it’s not as dark as the halls before, the silence presses in against Richie’s ears, and as he and Bev share a look, he sees the same fear he feels creeping into her eyes.  It goes without saying that they are both thinking of what Ben described to them long ago, the headless thing he encountered in this dark, scary place.  Richie has both imagined it and tried to push the image out of his mind. 

 

They move forward, Richie finding his way through the maze of shelves easily, and they hurry up the staircase, illuminated by a single, hanging light at the top, the rest of the way almost dark enough to be dangerous.  A ridiculous thought fills his mind, then- how does Eddie do this?  How does he stomach being completely alone here, this late at night, when it feels as though there’s something lurking around every corner, waiting, watching, for the right moment to come out? 

 

Richie bursts through the doorway leading into the main area of the library, expecting to find some sign of a struggle, or maybe Sam, sitting at one of the long tables, waiting, with blood on his hands and down his front- but there’s nothing there.  The lights are off, and when he flips the switch and takes a good look around, nothing seems to be out of place.

 

“I’m gonna look around,” Bev says from beside him, and he nods silently, eyes sweeping over the area behind the desk as she walks off. 

 

The phone is off the hook, set to the side with the cord dangling off the edge of the desk, and when Richie brings it to his ear, the rapid dial tone is almost too loud in the silence.  He sets it back in the receiver, then turns his attention to some paperwork scattered on the ground, half hidden in the shadow under the desk.   

 

He bends down to pick them up, but his eyes catch sight of something else, partially covered in the shadows.  There’s a black, fabric cord sticking out in the light, and when Richie takes it and holds it up, his chest tightens painfully. 

 

It’s the corded wristband, the one he gave to Eddie in Kettle Cove.  The beads are loose, the cords shredded at both ends, the lowercase _s_ gone, leaving only _Ed_ behind.  Richie stands, cradling it in the palm of his hand, and he closes his eyes and clutch at the edge of the desk to keep himself upright as his breath comes faster and his stomach clenches inside him. 

 

Bev rounds the desk suddenly, filling his peripheral vision as he quickly tries to pull himself together.  His fingers close around the band, tightly, and as he swallows down the pain threatening to burst from him, his eyes fall to the item clutched in her hands. 

 

Eddie’s backpack. 

 

“It was by the front door,” she says, approaching him slowly, worriedly, reaching out and placing her hand on his arm.  Her voice softens as she says, “That’s all I could find…”

 

He knows what this all means.  It means that he shouldn’t have let Eddie go to work on his own.  It means Eddie was alone, in this big, unprotected library, with no one watching his back, no one keeping an eye on him when he really needed it.  It means that Eddie wasn’t fast enough this time, that he wasn’t able to get away.  

 

“Bev,” he starts, eyes darting away from Bev’s searching look.  “Eddie’s not here.  W-Where is he?  He _should_ be here, he should-“

 

“I know, Rich,” Bev says, squeezing his arm as he reaches for her.  She pulls him close, lets him cling to her shoulders as she goes on.  “Look, we need to get back to my house.  We'll call Mike and Stan when we get there."  She holds his keys up with a shrug.  “These were in the front pocket.  We'll take your car back, too.  Okay?" 

 

Richie nods, swallowing thickly.  "It was Sam," he says, and though his voice trembles he is certain.  "It was him on the phone.  He answered when I called.  It was _him_."  His voice grows in volume and pitch, and though he doesn't mean to, he's nearly shouting, hands shaking, grasping at Bev desperately.  "He- he did _something_ to him, Bev.  He’s gonna hurt him.  He’s gonna—" 

 

"I _know_."  She takes his face between her palms, looks him in the eyes, her voice leaving no room for doubt.  "We're going to _find_ him."   

 

She leads the way through the front doors of the dark, empty library, and he follows her silently.  What's left of the wristband is dangling from his fingers, and he holds it tightly against his chest.

 

: : : :

 

Once Mike and Stan arrive at Bev’s, they’re all back out the door and in Richie’s car. 

 

They go up and down the streets of the surrounding neighborhoods, starting at the library and working their way out.  It’s a fucking waste of time, Richie keeps trying to tell them, but Stan has made some good points about being thorough in a search. 

 

“If we go to the police they won’t even bother looking for him,” Stan says, as they turn down another street and head toward Richie’s neighborhood.  “It hasn’t been long enough to say he’s missing.”    

 

Derry is small, but they get out and go on foot through some of the darker alleyways, parking the car at the parks and looking around, though Richie can tell that each time they climb back in and go again that they’re losing hope.  It’s like they’re all clinging to this dwindling idea, some lifeline that maybe Eddie just decided to walk out of the library, for no reason that any of them can come up with. 

 

Around three am they finally go to the Kaspbrak house, at Stan’s insistence.  Bev and Mike agree that it’s best to check there, just in case, because maybe Eddie headed there because of some emergency.  Maybe Mrs. K called the library looking for him and lured him back home with some bullshit about needing his help. 

 

It’s possible, so Richie climbs the tree under Eddie’s old window, and he’s not surprised to find the room dark and empty when he peers inside.  Disappointment and dread rush through him in equal measures, but he gets back in the car and they keep going. 

 

After another hour, after they leave Stan’s side of town, Richie turns around from the passenger side to look at Mike, where he’s sitting right behind the driver seat.  “You said you know where Sam lives,” he says, voice low and urgent.  He’s been hanging on to that thought all night, almost afraid to bring it up, because he knows that it’s crazy.  “At the anti-Thanksgiving party.  You said he lives near you.” 

 

Mike nods, though he seems hesitant to do so.  “Yeah, he does.  It’s a ways down from my house.  Down a dirt road.” 

 

Bev is driving.  She took the keys from Richie after the last stop, and now they are heading out of town, toward Mike’s house.  “You think it’s hard to get in?” She asks, a cigarette between her fingers that she’s holding toward the cracked window. 

 

“There’s a fence, but it looks easy to climb.” 

 

"Can we..." Richie trails off, eyeing Bev's clenched jaw and hard grasp on the steering wheel, and the way she keeps glancing in the rear view mirror at Mike.  He already knows Stan will protest, but he doesn't care.  "I want to check it out."

 

A heavy sigh comes from the seat directly behind Richie, and he turns slightly to meet Stan's eyes when he speaks.  "We can't just _break in_ -"

 

"I know, Stan!”  Richie cuts him off sharply, glaring at Stan’s hard gaze.  “I know we can’t just break in.  But I don’t give a shit.  If that fucker has Eddie, I don’t care about that shit.” 

 

Taking calming breaths isn’t working, and Richie turns back around in his seat, closing his eyes and seething.  He knows it’s not their fault, that doing anything drastic can get them all in trouble, but he’s just so angry.  He wants to yell and scream at _all_ of them- if Eddie were here, and if it was one of _them_ missing, he wouldn't hesitate to go all in until they were found.  Just like when Bev was taken by that fucking clown.  It's like their bravery has died as they've grown, like their willingness to believe what is right in front of them has been turned completely around, and they’re slowly turning into the adults they feared when they were younger.  What the hell happened to them, the Losers who would die for each other?

 

"Okay," Mike says, and Richie turns to glance at him.  Mike’s eyes are full of sad acceptance.  "But we _have_ to be careful.  And quiet." 

 

Stan looks like he's ready to argue, but Mike shoots him a sharp look, and Stan snaps his mouth shut. 

 

When they get close to Mike’s house, Mike leans into the space between the front seats and tells Bev to keep going.  There are orchards on either side of the road, no streetlights to light the way, nothing but the headlamps and moon to help them see.

 

"Turn off the headlights," Mike says, leaning over the backseat to peer out the windshield.  "Can you see without them?"

 

"Yeah," Bev hits the switch, and the lights go off, the road blacking out entirely.  “How much farther?”

 

Mike squints, and Richie does too.  “Not far.  Slow down.” 

 

Richie can't see one fucking line on the road, even though the moon is full and breaking through the tops of the trees.  He leans out of the window, looks down at the road and the white lines that run along the edge, but he can just barely make them out, and he can't imagine how Bev is able to keep driving. 

 

They hit a tree line that blocks out some of the light on either side of the road, and Richie is glad he isn't the one driving.  Something heavy settles in his chest, makes it hard for him to suck in enough air as he clutches at the door handle and watches for the looming shape of a house.  Mike places a hand on Bev’s shoulder, tells her to pull off but to watch for the mailbox.  Richie can see it, out of focus, the outline of the metal box as the car comes to a stop.  It's about ten feet or so away from the passenger door, the mouth of the dirt road illuminated by a gap in the trees.   

 

"It's down this one," Mike says, almost whispering in the tense silence that has fallen over each of them.  "You can see the house way down in the daylight.  It’s too dark right now." 

 

Richie sits up, staring hard down the dark, shapeless dirt road, and he's struck by the sudden need to _go_ \- Eddie is down that dirt road.  Even if the others might not believe it, or are reluctant to accept it, Richie knows it- _feels_ it, in his chest and his skin, that Eddie needs him. 

 

Pulling the door handle, Richie gets out of the car, and he heads over to the mailbox, where he can see the name _Ellis_ engraved in the metal.  He knows his friends are going to follow him, but he doesn’t care.  All he can focus on is his own heart pounding away, and it's laced with fear and adrenaline, because he knows this is a stupid thing to do.  But it doesn't matter how stupid or foolish or reckless this is.  All that matters is getting to Eddie.  He _has_ to get to Eddie-

 

Hands grab the back of his sweater, arms pulling him in and locking around him from behind.  Richie fights against the hold, only to be jerked back so suddenly that he almost trips over his own feet.  Firm, thick arms hold him against a hard chest that can only be Mike.  “Let me go!” he screams, and tries to dig his elbow into any part of Mike he can reach.  “Fucking let me go!”

 

“Richie, stop,” Stan is right in front of him now, Bev joining him, and Stan grasps Richie’s shoulders, trying to steady him as he attempts to kick off the ground.  “There’s nothing we can do right now.”

 

“Fuck you!  Yes there is!” 

 

“What do you want to do, then?” Bev pushes Stan aside, takes up his position with her fingers grasping the sleeves of Richie’s sweater.  “It’s four in the morning.  We _can’t_ go in there right now.”    

 

Richie drops his head back against Mike’s shoulder, and he laughs, and it sounds dark and hurtful to his ears.  His heart pounds furiously in his chest, and there’s no escaping Mike's relentless hold on him.  Words come flying out of his mouth, words that swell sourly in his stomach.  "You guys don't care about him.  You don’t fucking care." 

 

Bev’s eyes grow wide, and her lip trembles as she points to him in warning.  "Shut up, Richie.”  Her voice cracks as she goes on.  "Do _not_ say some dumb shit you're going to regret just because you're angry." 

 

Of course he's angry.  He's so fucking mad that he doesn't know what to do with it.  All he wants is to lash out at them, blame them, ditch them so he can go on on his own- but he knows that's not going to happen, not with all three of them on the same side.  “Let me go.  I’ll go alone.” 

 

“No,” Stan speaks up, stepping back into Richie’s field of vision.  His eyes are cold and angry.  “You’re not going by yourself.  We need a _plan_.”

 

Richie scoffs, though the angry fire that was burning in him starts to fade.  “Fuck a plan,” he says, weakly, no longer fighting back.

 

“Stan’s right,” Mike says, close to Richie’s ear.  “I want to go get him right now, too.  But, it’s going to be day soon.  We need to do this tonight.  It's too dangerous to go right now.”

 

Richie wants to say no, but he knows it's not going to help anything.  So he breathes deeply to push the rest of his anger away, to keep it back, and though he’s still shaking, still pissed, he nods.  “Fine.” 

 

When they get back in the car it’s all tense silence.  Richie doesn’t sit in the front this time, and chooses to get in the back with Mike, forcing Stan to sit up front next to Bev.  He faces the window, wipes his glasses off on his sleeve, and then he closes his eyes and imagines that Eddie is there with him.  It’s easier when he recalls a memory of when he first got his car.  Mike wanted to go to the ocean, so they all piled in and headed to the coast on a Sunday.  It was a lot of fun, and Eddie navigated the entire way.  Never got them lost.  On the way back, he was too tired to drive and let Bev take the wheel, just like she is now, and he fell asleep in the backseat with his head pillowed on Eddie’s shoulder.  It wasn’t the first time he looked his fill, staring at Eddie’s profile when he woke up in the dark, taking in his long, curling lashes and the line of his jaw.

 

He holds on to that memory all the way to Bev's, ignoring the stinging in his eyes and the sinking in his chest.  They don't say much to each other when they drag their exhausted bodies inside.  Mike suggests they all get some sleep, so they can plan better in the morning with clear heads.

 

Unable to face Eddie’s room, or the cold bed, Richie chooses to sleep on the couch.  He goes in there briefly to change, and the scent of Eddie is overwhelming; perhaps he's being overdramatic, but he knows he won't be able to sleep if he can't inhale that scent from the source.  It's a long couch, thankfully, and he's fallen asleep on it before, so he curls up with the same thick, nearly suffocating blanket from earlier, and tries to will his mind into a relaxed state.  He stares up at the ceiling, flat on his back, knees bent with his arms folded behind his head.  The worst-case scenarios keep playing out in his mind, no matter how much he tries to push those thoughts away or shut his eyes against the world.  It's all a pointless attempt to ignore the _wasting time_ feeling simmering inside him, but it's not like he can take off on his own.  Bev refused to give him back his keys when he asked for them, so he knows she’s probably sleeping with them under her pillow.  There’s no way he’d be able to grab them without waking her up. 

  

At some point he dozes off, and the start of a dream teases at the edges of his mind.  In the dream he can hear Eddie's voice, and though he knows it must be coming from somewhere, it feels like it's all around him.  Eddie is laughing brightly as an image starts to come in to focus; the barrens, surrounded by the river, vivid greenery, and the suffocating stench of rot and death.  As Richie finds his feet he wrinkles his nose, looking up to see the wide, beckoning mouth of the sewer before him, roots hanging down like webs across the dark, once mysterious space.  Something itches at the back of his mind- and he thinks, quite suddenly, that he's supposed to be looking for something, but he's not sure what.  A sound, somewhere to his left, draws his attention in that direction, and he sees Eddie standing in the shallow water, inhaler clutched in his hand as he gasps and presses his palm into his chest.  Richie moves, hurrying over to him, and he takes the inhaler from his grasp and shoves the end into Eddie's mouth, depressing the pump and- it's empty.  Eddie's eyes are wide and tearful, his face going red as he tries to suck in air- but his throat is tense and unyielding and he's- he's choking.  He's _choking_ -

 

A touch pulls Richie suddenly out of the dream, and he looks down at his leg wildly, blinking as he tries to make sense of the sudden shift to consciousness.  A hand, with long, bony fingers is clutching at his knee, shaking him, and Richie looks up to see the blurred outline of Stan hovering over him. 

 

"Stan?" He mumbles, groping for his glasses on the floor and sliding them on.  "What's goin' on?"  

 

"You were dreaming," Stan explains, quietly, his voice filling the darkness and silence of the living room.  He glances away, almost timidly, and removes his hand from Richie's knee as he straightens up.  "You were shouting." 

 

"Shit, did I wake you up?" 

 

Stan shakes his head, says, "I was awake," then turns as if to leave.  "Go back to sleep.  We'll wake you up in a few hours.  It's only six." 

 

Richie pushes himself up on his elbows, blinking away the sleep-heavy feeling in his eyes.  "I can't anyway," he says, voice rough from the soreness starting at the back of his throat.  He's warm, too, and he can feel the fever from earlier creeping over the back of his neck, spreading.  "You said it's _six_?" 

 

Stan just nods. 

 

Now that he's had a little bit of sleep and time to calm down, Richie is extremely aware of how much of an asshole he's been throughout the night.  There's no reason for him to attack his friends, especially since all they've done is try to help.  And, it's not like they aren't worried, too.  He knows Bev cried in the bathroom earlier, before he was able to drift off to sleep.  He could hear her through the thin walls, and though he ached to go to her and comfort her, he was still raw and angry. 

 

"Hey," Richie stops him, reaching out and placing his hand on Stan's bare arm, sighing as he contemplates how the hell to apologize.  His thumb skims over the raised skin on the soft inside, the scars that Stan never hides, and Richie swallows down the hurt that unearths itself from the many things hiding in the Unthinkable-Unspeakable section in his mind.  Fuck- he can't even think about _that_ right now.  There's no room left in his chest for that lingering pain. 

 

"What?"  Stan asks, a single brow arching up.  He's playing off whatever he's feeling, Richie can tell, and he hates that he contributed to whatever new hurt Stan is trying to smother. 

 

"I'm a fucking asshole," he starts, shrugging as he withdraws his hand.  "I didn't mean to... I'm just," he pauses, flailing in his mind for something else to say.  Apologizing isn't something he likes to do, and he's used to only apologizing to Eddie, mostly because he pisses Eddie off the most.  But, this is different; he and Stan have silent understandings between them, a kind of code they speak and interact in that the others don't get.  Where it used to be mostly Stan pretending to hate Richie, now it's evenings where they spill secrets to each other, and then pretend it didn't happen the next day.  "You know I didn't mean what I said... right?" 

 

Stan looks at him evenly, the only sign of discomfort he displays is the way he folds his arms together in front of his chest.  "I know," he says, and there's a tightness forming around his eyes that sets Richie on edge.  "I'm not trying to act like I don't care, you know.  None of us are."   

 

"I know," Richie says, sensing the shift in the air as Stan gestures for him to make room.  He scoots back, allowing Stan to sit on the edge of the space in front of him.  "I know you care.  I'm just an idiot." 

 

Stan doesn't respond immediately, his hands clasped together between his knees, head hanging slightly, a frown appearing between his brows as he turns to Richie.  “I’m scared for him,” he admits, voice low and secretive, as though he's afraid to admit it even to himself.  "The legalities, it's... it's all set up against him.  The law isn't going to help in this situation, no matter how much we try to follow it.  I want to get the police involved, to leave a paper trail, but they aren’t going to care.  They aren’t…" 

 

Richie nods, carefully, ignoring the way his heart sinks at Stan's words.  It's not like he didn't already know, but to hear Stan confirm it, who always seems so certain of what he's doing, is like a cold, hard blast of reality Richie doesn't want to process right now.  "Then we can't follow the law." 

 

"Yeah," Stan agrees, voice cracking on the syllable, and he nods.  Richie can see it in the way Stan's hands clench together, the way he closes his eyes for a moment and just breathes- that he's finally accepting this aspect of the world.  The unfairness of it all.  The injustice.  "You're right." 

 

Richie's eyes go to the window, where a sliver of moonlight is spilling through the space between the blinds.  It's even colder than it was earlier, and Richie pulls the blanket closer to him, unable to look away from the frost on the windows and the darkness beyond the glass.  A sick, sour feeling is filling his gut, and he knows it has everything to do with Eddie.  How can he be here, safe, in this house, when Eddie is the furthest he can get from being safe?  Anything can be happening to him, things Richie can't even bring himself to think, and there's nothing he can do about it. 

 

A desperate, sharp pain swells in his chest, and he sucks in a breath as he says, in a whisper, "I can't do it, Stan."  Richie knows, when he feels Stan's eyes on him, that he can say what he's feeling freely, because Stan won't judge him, or misunderstand him.

 

Stan's hand moves, a blur out of the corner of his eye, and then he's squeezing Richie's shoulder reassuringly.  "Can't do what?" 

 

Shutting his eyes, Richie fights back the overwhelming urge to cry, digging his nails into his palms to shift his attention away from the stinging in the corners of his eyes.  "I don’t think I can live without him."

 

Stan’s fingers tighten on his shoulder, and he inhales, voice tense as he says, "You _can_." 

 

A sob escapes Richie's lips, and he shudders horribly, curling into himself to hide the few tears that have fallen.  "I _can't_ ," he says, shakily, pain blooming in his palms where his nails have dug into his skin.  "I can't.  I don't want to, I don't- I can't.  Not _now_." 

 

"What do you mean?"  Stan asks, and he moves closer, his palm moving up and over the back of Richie’s neck.  He kneads the muscles lightly.

 

Richie tries to suck it all up, back into himself, so he can regain the control he's refined over the years.  " _Everything_.  Things are, they're different now.  We were only friends before, but it's all different now.  I... I _need_ him." 

 

Richie falls silent, and Stan doesn't say anything this time.  He stays there, beside him, a warm, comforting presence, which is surprising, because "comforting" is the last word Richie would ever use to describe Stan. 

 

Maybe it's cruel to say this to Stan of all people.  There's no future that Richie sees worth living without Eddie, as insane as it sounds, even in his own head.  He's helpless, bound, and an empty, lonely life is something he's not sure he can live.  Before things developed with Eddie he would have found a way to be happy without him- but now?  Now that he knows what it's like to hold Eddie in his arms, to press their lips together and run his hands over Eddie's skin, he _can't_ let it all go.  If something happens to Eddie, if Richie _loses_ him- how is he supposed to go on without the one person who gives him a sense of hope? 

 

Richie is almost positive he won't be able to fall asleep again, but he does, at some point, with Stan still sitting beside him. 

 

: : : :

 

They all gather in the kitchen in the morning. 

 

Standing around the dripping coffee pot, they listen as Mike relays his ideas of how to get into Sam’s house.  A window.  A basement.  The back door is the last choice.  It’s all straightforward; they get in, they find Eddie, they get out.  All the _what ifs_ and questioning are pointless.  It’s all going to come down to their ability to keep quiet and use their brains. 

 

"We should wait until after midnight," Mike says, looking at each of them, his gaze lingering on Richie.  "If we go too early, someone might be awake in the house." 

 

Richie nods.  Makes sense.  “Maybe we should walk from your house,” he suggests to Mike, Stan nodding and Bev shaking her head no.

 

“I think we should keep the car as close as possible,” Bev explains as she grabs the coffee pot and pours some into four mismatched mugs.  “In case we need to take Eddie to the hospital.”

 

Jaw clenching, Richie doesn’t comment on that.

 

They agree to leave the car hidden near one of the orchards, and then they each head off on their own to wait out the day.

 

Longing for the solitude, Richie hides himself in Eddie’s room so he can think through the worst of the outcomes in peace.  All it does is get him worked up, agitated, and he ends up cleaning and arranging whatever seems out kof place.  Cleaning isn't really his thing on his best days, so while rearranging the bookcase, he gets lost looking through Eddie's collection, handling each book with the same care he's watched Eddie handle them with over the years.  There are pages dog-eared and highlighted in certain books, he notices, particularly in _The Outsiders_ and _That Was Then, This Is Now._ Reading through some of the highlighted bits kills more time than he's expecting, and just as he's reading through Johnny Cade sticking Bob Sheldon with a switchblade, Bev knocks on the door and tells him that Mike made dinner. 

 

He's still tired, and not feeling too hot after being exposed to the cold last night, so he declines and settles down in the bed for a nap he hopes will make him feel somewhat ready for tonight.  Though, he already knows, nothing is going to prepare him for whatever the hell they're getting themselves in to. 

 

Sleep is impossible, so he continues to read, glancing at Eddie's watch on the bedside table every now and then.  The hours are dragging by.  Maybe if he could bring himself to go and talk to one of his friends the time might go by faster, but he's not up to it.  Of all the times he’s never been able to shut his mouth, it’s a little unreal that he can’t think of something random to talk about with any of them to keep his mind occupied.  His fever is getting worse, and the itch in the back of his throat has come back with a vengeance.  Only a while longer, and then he has to get up, no matter how shitty he's feeling.

 

A little after midnight they all pile in Richie's car.  Bev takes the keys from him again, and Richie allows it, climbing into the passenger side and sighing heavily. 

 

"Here," Bev says shortly, holding her hand out to him, her fingers curled around a dark object that fits inside her palm.

 

He can see what it is before he reaches out to take it; she drops it into his open hand, the weight a solid, cool mass against his heated skin.  As he flicks the notch on the side the blade springs free, and the long, sharp edge is thrown into light by the streetlamp just outside the window.  A shiver goes through Richie, and he hopes, against all odds, that he doesn't have to use this thing tonight. 

 

"Thanks," he says, voice wavering with uncertainty as he folds the blade back into place, then tucks it into the front pocket of his jeans. 

 

Bev turns the key in the ignition and the engine hums to life, the screech of a belt ripping through the air as she says, “I really hope you don’t need it." 

 

Once Stan and Mike say they are ready, they set off down the dark, deserted streets of Derry.  The weight of the blade burns a hole through Richie's pants, but he ignores it the best he can, watching the town fall behind them as they pass the water tower on the way out of the city limits.  The roads out here are always dark, little to no streetlights to line the main ways, and nothing down the side roads but warning signs for sharp turns and uneven pavement.

 

Richie's hands tremble in his lap, so he grips the door handle with his right, clenching his left against his thigh.  He keeps going over the things he should have brought with him, and all the ways that this could go wrong.  If there's one thing he hopes doesn't happen, it's that they don't run into Sam.  There's so much more that has happened since the last time Richie saw him face to face, and he's not sure he can keep himself from attacking him.  And, in that case, he's not confident that he can gain the upper hand.  Not while he's feeling as shitty as he is. 

 

No words are exchanged between the four of them the entire way.  Richie loathes the silence, but there's nothing that can bring him to talk right now.  He's not even sure if it's the fever or his nerves, but his skin feels like it's going to burn off, heat spreading up from his neck and over his face.  He can't even tell himself that things are going to be fine.  That they're going to go in there, get Eddie, and come right back out- no problem.  There are too many factors at play for him to try to pass a lie off, even in his own mind.  They could find that Eddie isn't even there.  They could run into someone with a gun, guard dogs, or the worst- Sam.  One of them could get hurt, or caught, and then what? 

 

There's no time for Richie's mind to spin circles around itself.  They speed past Mike's house, and only then does one of them break the silence.  Stan suggests they hide the car farther up the tree line than originally planned, and they all agree in quiet murmurs. 

 

"Headlights," Mike reminds Bev, and she flips the switch off just as she pulls off the road and maneuvers the car into a space between two trees.  It's just wide enough for them to squeeze out of the doors, and they all climb out with some difficulty.  Richie almost loses his footing in what feels like a pile of decaying leaves and mulch, and he stumbles to the side, catching himself on the warm hood with both palms. 

 

The moon is full, and the glow gives them just enough light to see one another.  Richie moves in front of the car to join the others. 

 

"Ready?" Bev asks, looking between each of them. 

 

Stan nods, and Richie glances at him worriedly.    

 

Bev shoves her arms through the sleeves of a dark, thick sweater as she addresses Mike.  “Did you bring a gun?” 

 

Mike is in the middle of adjusting something in his pocket, pulling his sweater down over it.  He stops.  “I didn’t,” he says, and lifts the front of his sweater to show the handle of the bolt-gun, like the one they used on the clown.  “I can’t take a real gun my grandpa owns into some house.  I’d get thrown in jail faster than any of you.”

 

“That’s fine,” Bev hurries to say.  “We might not need it anyway.” 

 

There's nothing left to say, so they start off down the edge of the road.  Their quick footsteps crackle over leaves and debris, and soon the mailbox looms into view, and Richie fights the strong urge to knock it to the ground and crush it.  The ground shifts then, their steps muffled by the dirt and the drying mud as they turn and start down the dirt road. 

 

There's an orchard on the right, and nothing but an open field on the left.  Once they've walked for several minutes, the bulky outline of a house comes into view, and Richie sees immediately what Mike meant when he called the house "weird."  There are trees all around it, as though they were grown purposely to hide the home from any onlookers, and a tall, intimidating fence surrounds the entirety of the property.  It's not unusual, for the houses on the outskirts of Derry to have these things, especially those with money, but there's a heavy feeling hanging in the air all around them.  It sinks into Richie's skin, makes the shaking in his limbs increase as they reach the edge of the fence and stop, assessing. 

 

Bev goes first; she takes hold of a low bar and heaves herself up, then effortlessly finds a foothold to push off and reach the top.  Stan goes next, then Mike, and Richie brings up the rear.  Richie struggles a bit, his non-existent upper body strength nearly dragging him down, but with Mike's help, he makes it over without crashing to the ground. 

 

They all land in a bed of soft soil- probably a flowerbed- in the corner of the front lawn, hunching down together with their eyes focused on the hulking shadow of the house.  There are three floors, from what Richie can see, and two nice, newer cars parked out front in the driveway.  He spots Sam's immediately; the beige Chrysler Lebaron, sitting innocently, and once again he holds himself back.  He'd love to take a hammer to the body and a bat to the windows, maybe slash the tires if he knew how to do it.  Bev could show him how, he’s sure. 

 

"Let's go around the back," Mike whispers to them, and they all head off across the front lawn, the grass silencing their steps as they swing around the side of the house.  It’s darker here, with the trees curving up and over the house, blocking out any moonlight that might otherwise illuminate the ground under their shoes.  Richie's heart hammers wildly, and he thinks he must be screwed, because they aren’t even in the house yet and his stomach is already turning unpleasantly. 

 

It takes some searching, but they find a worn, wooden basement door, a heavy chain slung around the handles made pointless by the average lock holding them together.  Bev digs through her pockets, bringing out a pair of what Richie thinks are tweezers and a hair pin, and she lowers herself on the doors, slowly, and begins to pick at the lock.  It takes her several tries, and she swears under her breath, Richie hunching down over her, his eyes going to the porch that is to their left, where a backdoor is barely visible.  They probably aren’t making a lot of noise, but the silence around them makes him feel like they might as well be stomping around.

 

Finally, the lock clicks open, and Mike pulls Bev to her feet.  Stan drops to his knees, taking the chain delicately in his hands, and he slowly, cautiously, pulls it free, wincing when it thumps heavily against the wood.

 

Richie holds his breath, his eyes darting between the back door and the windows just over their heads- but there’s no sign that anyone inside has heard them.  So they all pull the doors open, Stan and Richie on one side, Mike and Bev on the other, and when they set the doors down on the grass without a sound, Richie peers inside.  There’s a staircase leading down into darkness, no sign of a light or anything else. 

 

Bev gestures to herself, and then heads down the stairs first, pulling a flashlight out of her front pocket and flooding the stairs with a bright beam of light.  Richie follows her immediately, his throat tickling with the sudden shift from dry, crackly air to the damp atmosphere of the basement.  The stairs creak under their weight, and Richie can only hope that the walls are thick enough to hide the noise from anyone up in the house. 

 

At the bottom, Richie stands beside Bev as she swings the flashlight around.  There are piles of typical junk; furniture shoved into the corners, a wine rack in the far-left corner, some tools and storage containers pushed off to the right.  It’s eerily normal, he thinks, as Mike and Stan join them, and he’s not sure what to make of that.  He’s not even sure what he was expecting.

 

There’s a path leading to another staircase, and Richie moves ahead first this time, his breath coming faster with every careful step he takes.  These steps don’t make as much noise as the others, but what little they do seems magnified once he reaches the top. 

 

The door is locked from the other side, so Bev picks this one too, Stan bending down and holding the light for her.  The orangey glow throws shadows over his features, and Richie makes brief eye contact with him before Bev gets the door open.

 

As the door swings outward, the edge of a table comes into view, then a fridge, counters, and finally, a sink.  Richie almost lets out a relieved breath, but he holds it back at the last moment, uncertain as to why he should feel any sense of relief in the first place.  He’s half expecting to find Sam lurking behind every door, with his blank stare and his dead, emotionless eyes.  It’s not likely, but it’s possible, and Richie doesn’t want to imagine what will happen if they come face to face with him. 

 

Stan and Bev move forward first, then Mike, and Richie last.  He would have thought that Eddie might be kept in the basement, but there was no sign of anyone down there.  His next guess is the attic, if there is one.  In a house this size there must be.  As he follows Mike through a doorway and into a living room, he sees the stairs that lead up to the second and third floor, and the pit of his stomach writhes.

 

Bev beckons them all closer, right at the foot of the bottom step.  “ _Take the second floor,_ ” she whispers, almost soundlessly, and gestures to Richie and Stan.  “ _We’ll take the top_ ,” she motions to Mike and herself. 

 

Richie starts shaking his head; he doesn’t want to split up, even though it’s undoubtedly the ideal thing to do, so they can cover more ground and get out of here quickly.  “I don’t know,” he says, keeping his voice as low as possible.  “What if—”

 

“ _We’ll make less noise_ ,” Stan says, and gives Richie a meaningful look.  “ _If we spread out_.”   

 

Richie huffs, pushes his glasses up his nose as he looks up at the long, daunting staircase.  _Fuck_.  Stan’s right. 

 

He nods instead of answering, following as Mike goes first and leads the way up.  There are pictures hanging on the walls, set in a diagonal pattern, but Richie doesn’t dare look at them too closely.  He doesn’t want to know what that sick fuck looked like as a kid, doesn’t want to look into the eyes of the people who spawned him, even if it is only through a portrait.  So he keeps going, steps off at the second floor with Stan, and barely looks at Mike and Bev as they keep going, sticking close together. 

 

There are windows at either end of the hall, and a balcony somewhere in between.  It’s bright enough for Richie to make his way down the left side, and he beckons Stan to follow him, taking deep breaths to calm his racing pulse.  There are a few doors, some which are bound to be bedrooms, and it’s a risk either way to check any of the rooms, so he picks the last one on the right, and tries the handle. 

 

It’s a room with a desk in the corner, some overflowing bookshelves, but nothing else.  Stan opens the next one to find an unoccupied bed, a canopy hanging down around the white bedspread, the curtains moving in the breeze caused by an open window.  The window makes Richie pause before leaving the room, and he shivers as he swings the door closed, though he knows it has nothing to do with the cold air blowing inside. 

 

There are no more doors at this end, so they head to the other side, moving quickly past the door that leads to the balcony.  It’s a high jump, but the balcony is like a beacon of safety.  If they get into trouble and can’t make it back down the stairs, Richie’s more than willing to risk a sprained ankle to get the hell out of here.

 

There are four doors this time.  The first is another office-like space.  The bookshelves are not as full as the other room, but the walls are covered in newspaper clippings, documents, and photographs.  It reminds Richie of the first time he stepped into Ben’s bedroom years ago, his eyes assaulted by the horrid history of Derry, Ben sheepishly presenting his research and hard work.  He wishes Ben were here right now, or maybe Bill.  Ben was always good at keeping his head in these kind of situations, and Bill would have been on Richie’s side, would have helped him kick the backdoor in and find Eddie without waiting for a plan.

 

But there’s nothing about Derry on these walls.  The clippings aren’t exclusively from the town paper, but from the cities and towns surrounding them.  There’s an article from the Bangor paper about a missing teen, a sixteen-year-old who had disappeared back in March on his way home from school.  The picture, at first, looks alarmingly like Eddie, but as Richie steps closer, he sees that this boy is only similar in stature, with wavy hair that falls over his eyes and dimples around his wide, uneven smile.  Stan moves across the room to study other clippings on the opposite wall, and Richie follows a trail of similar articles and headlines, all about missing boys, along the wall.  He counts seven in total, and his stomach drops; each one appears to bear a similar resemblance to Eddie. 

 

Fuck.  _Fuck_.  An overwhelming wave of urgency fills him, crawls over his skin as he turns and pulls Stan from the room.  They can’t say anything, the risk is too much of being heard, but Richie frantically tries each of the doorknobs, finding two more empty bedrooms, and one locked door.  Shit.  He doesn’t know how to pick a fucking lock.  He’s about to run down the hall and up to the next floor to get Bev when Stan suddenly drops to the ground on one knee, something silver glinting in his fingers as he attacks the lock.  Richie wants to hug him. 

 

The tools in Stan’s hand scrape and grind against the lock, the handle jiggling as he twists his wrists around, scrunching up his face in concentration.  Richie stands there, useless, keeping his eyes glued on the other end of the hall and on the stairs.  “C’mon,” he urges, his voice taking on a higher pitch.  He needs to find Eddie _now_.  Maybe all those articles don’t mean anything, or maybe they mean _everything_.  He’s not going to risk Eddie’s picture joining the rest- no fucking way.  He’ll kill Sam first before he lets that happen. 

 

“I’m _trying_ ,” Stan replies, and Richie can see that his hands are shaking terribly, a pin-like shape slipping out of his grasp and hitting the hardwood floor with a pinging sound.  “ _Shit_!”  The other piece wedged in the lock clicks, and then Stan turns the knob and pushes the door open, the hinges crying as Richie peers inside.   

 

There’s not much to see at first, and the curtains are drawn closed in front of the high window, blocking out most of the moon glow.  There’s a bed, just like in the other rooms, and a desk standing opposite, right in front of the door.  There’s a mild scent in the air- sweat and dried piss, like it’s embedded in the floor no matter how much you clean, and because the door is always closed there’s no getting rid of the smell.  Richie steps into the room with his heart in his throat, glancing around, eyeing the open, empty closet warily. 

 

A noise, like a puff of breath, draws Richie’s eyes back to the side of the room with the bed.  And from this angle he can see a slim mattress wedged in the space between the wall and the bedframe.  Richie’s dry throat hurts around a swallow; a pair of bound hands are hanging off the edge, fingers curled in toward small palms, wrists limp and dangling lifelessly.  And maybe it would sound crazy to anyone else, but Richie _knows_ , deep in his chest and stomach, that it’s _Eddie_. 

 

He scrambles forward and falls to his knees beside the mattress, a sob almost escaping his lips at the sight of Eddie’s wavy curls, hanging loose and slightly greasy around his head.  Richie grabs him by the shoulders, pulls him up and off the mattress, shifting around so he can hold Eddie against him, his voice broken as he murmurs “Eds” against the top of Eddie’s head. 

 

Eddie tenses in his hold, his bound hands pushing against Richie’s chest as he whines, “No, n-no, please.”  Eddie shakes his head, lifting his chin up and toward Richie, and that’s when Richie notices the blindfold tied around his eyes.  “Don’t- _don’t_.” 

 

Stan is suddenly there, pulling the blindfold off and squeezing Eddie’s shoulder as Richie pushes Eddie’s hair back away from his eyes.  “Fuck, Eds, it’s us.  It’s _me_.” 

 

Eddie’s eyes open, slowly, as though he’s making a great effort to force them.  “Richie?”  he asks weakly, hopeful, his chest rising as he inhales deeply.  “Rich...?”  His fingers curl into the front of Richie’s sweater, his grip much weaker and slower than it usually is.  His pupils, when he finally opens his eyes enough to see, are blown wide.  “R-Richie…”

 

“Yeah, I’m here.”  Dragging Eddie into his lap, Richie pulls at the cords binding his wrists together, looking for a loose end, or weak spot to pull.  They’re too tight, so he fumbles in his pocket for the knife Bev gave him and carefully cuts them loose.  Eddie hisses, slumped against Richie’s chest, his breath coming in short, quick pants that raise red flags in Richie’s mind.  “Can you hear me?”   

 

Eddie nods jerkily, and he lifts his head, looking right at Stan as he slurs, “H-He gave me s-something.  Something… something to make me stop.” 

 

“Stop what?”  Richie asks, goosebumps forming all up and down his arms.

 

Heaving a deep breath, Eddie’s head falls against Richie’s shoulder heavily.  “Fighting back…”

 

“What did he give you?”  Stan asks, taking Eddie’s chin in hand and inspecting his face.  “Was it a pill?  A drink?” 

 

Eddie shakes his head, grabbing on to Richie’s shoulder as he tries to sit up.  “It was a shot.  I don’t know… what it is, but it makes me like this.” 

 

“Fuck.”  Richie’s hands close into fists, and he’s so fucking angry that if Sam were right here, in front of him, he wouldn’t hesitate to knock his teeth in.  That fucking piece of _shit_.  That fucking-

 

“We have to get him out of here,” Stan hisses, cutting through Richie’s murderous thoughts.  To Eddie, he says, “You think you can walk?”

 

A determined little frown forms between Eddie’s brows, and his knee starts to bend, his socked foot slipping on the wood floor.  “Maybe,” he groans, but it’s clear that he’s having trouble even lifting himself.  “ _Shit_.”

 

Fuck.  Think.  Fucking _think_.  “Go get Bev and Mike,” Richie says, going on as Stan starts to shake his head and protest.  “Just _go_ and get them and bring them here.  He’s dead weight right now.  We _need_ Mike’s help.”    

 

Stan looks torn, gaze moving between Eddie and the door.  Richie thinks he’s not going to do it, that he might refuse, but then he says, “ _Don’t move_ ,” with scared, wide eyes.    “I’ll hurry, I’ll- just _don’t_ move-“ 

 

And then he’s up and out the door, as quick as he can quietly move, leaving Richie alone with Eddie. 

 

“Shit,” he says under his breath, scooting back against the bed as he shifts Eddie around in his lap.  “Fuck.” 

 

Gently, he runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair, kisses the top of his head as he cradles his body against his chest.  He’s fine.  Eddie is fine- and he’s going to be okay.  He’s drugged and sluggish, out of it, but he’s fine. 

 

Richie holds back the relief threatening to consume him, because they aren’t out of danger yet.  Somehow, he manages to spread Eddie out on his back, Eddie’s eyes boring into his when Richie leans over him. 

 

“Rich,” Eddie mumbles, and as Richie is looking him over he feels the soft touch of Eddie’s palm cupping his jaw.  “I…” he swallows, licking his lips as he stares up at Richie with hooded eyes.  “He got me at the library.  I didn’t know he was there.” 

 

Richie’s heart lurches, and he presses his lips together for a moment, to keep himself from screaming.  “I know, my love.  I know.”

 

Eddie is wearing nothing but a tee shirt and boxers, and the left side of his neck is littered with marks.  Marks, he knows, would fit Sam’s lips and teeth.  Marks that shouldn’t fucking be there.  Closing his eyes, Richie takes a slow, forced breath, fisting the leg of his jeans as anger swells dangerously in his gut.  There are so many images going through his mind, so many things Sam might have done to Eddie, and Richie feels the burn of stomach acid gather at the back of his throat, the churning of his insides that always comes before he’s about to vomit.  But he can’t do that here- no.  _No_ \- he needs to be strong for Eddie.  He needs to keep himself as calm and level headed as possible, no matter how much he wants to hit, and rage, and _hurt_. 

 

A sound, like a click, pulls his eyes away from Eddie and to the door, and Richie’s stomach drops. 

 

Sam is leaning against the closed door, a key hanging from a ring held in one hand, the other reaching behind him and sliding a heavy deadbolt in place.  “Breaking and entering, huh?”  He asks, in the same cold, absent tone Richie heard last night on the phone.  “Not what you want on your record, kid.” 

 

Richie gets to his feet, standing over Eddie protectively, hands clenched down at his sides as his breath stutters out of him.  Blood is rushing in his ears, and every bit of him is shaking, shaking with pure, unrivaled anger.  “ _Fuck you_ ,” he growls, voice unrecognizable to his own ears.

 

There are dark, deep circles under Sam’s eyes, his skin gaunt and sickly, the whites of his eyes shot through with red.  They shine, watery, like little shards of glass behind the new frames sitting on his nose.  “I’m not finished with him yet,” he says, pushing away from the door, coming closer to Richie with measured steps.  “I said you could take him when I am.  Remember?” 

 

Richie holds his ground, forcing his legs to stay in place so he doesn’t step back as Sam advances on him.  He could rush him, maybe.  He has the blade in his hand, flipped open, and all he needs is the right angle.  He can _hurt_ him, kill him, even, but all he needs is to slow him down enough, so they can get away.  “Oh, yeah,” he says, locking his knees, though his legs threaten to give out they’re shaking so bad.  “Just like that, huh?”

 

Sam’s nostrils flare, and he makes a sudden move- a step forward- but then there’s a loud, frantic banging on the door, and Bev’s voice rings out from the other side.  “Richie!  What the hell, open up!” 

 

Sam glances over his shoulder, a brief look, but when he turns back to Richie he looks furious.  Dangerous.  His eyes narrow, he juts his chin out, and then he _moves_. 

 

Richie braces himself for the hit- years of being bullied have taught him to keep his feet planted- and Sam grabs him by the neck of his sweater.  Richie swings the knife out, catching Sam across the arm with a deep, vertical gash that bleeds immediately.  With a hiss Sam steps back, clutching at the underside of his arm, and his eyes flick up to meet Richie’s again.    

 

The look in his eyes is what makes Richie falter, and all it takes is one moment of hesitance for Sam to be on him.  Sam rushes him, wrapping his fingers around Richie’s wrist and twisting it back, back, until the muscles in his arm scream in pain and his fingers loosen around the handle of the blade.  Sam’s fist slams into his chest, abdomen, harder than Richie’s ever been hit before.  Sucking in a breath, Richie falls back, tripping over something on the ground, and as soon as he’s down Sam straddles his waist and brings his fist down over his nose. 

 

Ears ringing, Richie tries to throw his arms up over his face, but Sam smacks them out of the way and holds one arm down.  Blood is running warmly down Richie’s chin as he shoves at Sam’s chest, throws his fist out to catch Sam in the jaw- anywhere he can get him- but he can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t move when Sam bears his full weight down on him and pins him completely, helplessly.  Fuck- _fuck, fuck, fuck_ \- he struggles against his hold, uses his legs to kick out, nearly flailing, his wrists held down against the floor as his heart slams against his ribcage. 

 

“You fucking _pest_ ,” Sam spits out, and his eyes are blazing now, full of rage, edged with desperation and what Richie thinks insanity must look like.  “I should have killed you before.” 

 

The banging on the door is getting louder, but Richie isn’t sure they can get in here in time.  “Is that your deal?”  Richie gasps, his mouth going off without his consent.  “Fucking corpses?”  Richie jerks against him, tries to bring his leg up to dislodge him, but Sam’s weight keeps him in place.  “You sick son of a bitch—" 

 

Then Sam’s hands move away from his wrists, close around his throat, and _squeeze_. 

 

Richie shoves at Sam’s arms, his chest, fingers scrabbling against the back of his hands as he tries to swallow down a mouthful of air.  He throws a weak punch at Sam’s face, but he misses, tugs on the neckline of Sam’s shirt, panic gripping him as he digs his nails into the skin of Sam’s arms.  The muscles in his neck tighten, flex, and his mouth falls open, a pointless attempt to get some oxygen inside.  He can’t _breathe_ , can’t focus on anything but getting Sam’s hands off his throat.  Pain is growing under Sam’s tight hold, bruises forming as Sam’s fingers squeeze tighter, tighter, _tighter_ -

 

He’s vaguely aware that Eddie is safe, as long as Sam keeps strangling him, keeps hurting _him_ \- it’s enough time, maybe, for Mike to kick the door in, for Bev or Stan to find something to break it down.  Then they’ll take Eddie out of here, and he’ll be safe.  Eddie will be _safe_.

 

Legs thrashing, Richie’s ears start to buzz, low, the corners of his vision blurring as the pressure over his windpipe grows.  A sound escapes him, something pathetic, and he knows, as a sudden rush of blood fills his skull and he gets light headed, that he’s going to die.  He’s going to die here, on the dirty floor of this house, at the hands of a stalker, inches from the one person he loves more than anything. 

 

His hands go numb, their grip on Sam’s arms slackening as darkness creeps in around the edges of his vision, and his entire body heaves, a last attempt to survive that does absolutely nothing to help him.  The banging on the door is fading away, even the rush of blood in his ears is going faint, the voices of his friends growing quiet as his eyes start to slide closed…

 

And then the pressure is gone, the grip around his neck going slack, and Richie sucks down breath after breath, blinking rapidly as he coughs and sputters.  He turns over on his side, his hands touching the tender flesh over his throat, his glasses nearly falling off his nose as he takes in the sight before him.  

 

He can’t make sense of it, for a moment, until he sees the knife buried in Sam’s chest.  Eddie is clinging to Sam’s back, fingers wrapped around the handle, and he’s breathing heavily through his teeth as he pulls Sam down with his sagging weight.  Sam goes down easily, and Richie watches in awe as Eddie drags himself up and onto his knees, and he leans over Sam, pulls the knife out with some difficulty. 

 

Sam’s eyes are big and betrayed, gazing up at Eddie as a thin line of blood leaves the corner of his mouth.  He looks like he might say something, choking as he lifts his hand, shaking fingers pressing against the wound. 

 

“ _E_ - _Eds_ ,” Richie chokes out, but his voice is hoarse and frail, barely existent, and he knows Eddie can’t hear him. 

 

Then Eddie brings the knife down again, close to the same spot, and it sinks deeply into Sam’s chest.  Richie shuts his eyes, looks away as his ears take in the last sounds of Sam’s life bleeding away, the horrible gurgling in his throat as blood chokes him, flows out of him, kills him.  He can hear Eddie’s sharp breaths, wheezing in the sudden silence, and Richie presses his head down against the cool ground, his own breath struggling through his wounded airways. 

 

The door slams open, and Richie’s opens his eyes to see Mike rushing in in front of Stan and Bev.  Eddie scrambles away from Sam, over to Richie, and then Richie’s vision is filled with Eddie’s wide, terrified eyes, glassy with tears he must be holding back.  Richie clings to Eddie’s shoulders, allows himself to be turned so that his head rests in Eddie’s lap, and he shuts his eyes again, this time against the pain in his throat. 

 

Eddie cries above him, hitching sobs that shake his entire frame.  Blindly, Richie reaches for Eddie’s hand, finds it close by, and he laces their fingers together. 

 

It’s almost impossible, but somehow, Richie ignores the wet feeling of Sam’s blood coating Eddie’s palm.       

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter ahhhh it is horrible.  
> I still hope you guys liked it!  
> Also- I had a lot of new readers come in between this and the last update. I tried to reply to all comments but I'm sure i missed some. Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and leave me feedback. I thrive on comments and feedback. Thank you thank you!!  
> *Update 8/24/18*  
> Hi if you are waiting for an update, or have read this recently and are wondering if I'm still updating- Yes! I am! I've had writers block really bad and I'm just now starting to get back to writing again.  
> You can say hi on tumblr @ [reddiepop](https://reddiepop.tumblr.com/) or nudge me into writing the next chapter!  
> Thank you for being patient xoxo <3


End file.
